The War with Mexico_ Volume 1 (of 2) Justin Harvey Smith 2331 downloads.pdf

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The War with Mexico, Volume
1 (of 2)
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The War with Mexico, Volume 1 (of 2)

Author: Justin Harvey Smith

Release date: December 15, 2013 [eBook #44437]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44437

Credits: Produced by KD Weeks, David Edwards and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAR WITH
MEXICO, VOLUME 1 (OF 2) ***

Transcriber’s Note

Please consult the notes at the end of this text for a detailed discussion of the various
footnotes, endnotes, and navigation through this text, as well as any other textual issues.
Right-side page headers contained descriptions of the current topic
Topic descriptions
covered by the two open pages. These were retained and are
placed as marginal notes. The choice of that position is not always
obvious and should be regarded as approximate.
Illustrations are placed at approximately the point where they were printed. The captions
are usually printed on the maps themselves. Where there is no obvious title to the map,
the caption has been provided from the table of illustrations, in mixed case.
Larger images of full-page maps are available by using the hyperlink added to the
caption. These may be opened in separate windows.
This is the first of two volumes of The War with Mexico. The index, which is contained in
Volume II, refers to both volumes. References to Volume II have been included as
hyperlinks.
Volume II of can be found at Project Gutenberg with the following address:
http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44438

THE WAR WITH MEXICO

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

The
Annexation of Texas

Octavo ix + 496 pages
By mail, postpaid, $3.00

This is the only work attempting to deal
thoroughly with an affair that was
intrinsically far more important than had

previously been supposed, and was also of no
little significance on account of its relation to
the war with Mexico.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

THE

WAR WITH MEXICO
BY

JUSTIN H. SMITH

FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF MODERN HISTORY
AT DARTMOUTH COLLEGE
AUTHOR OF “THE ANNEXATION OF TEXAS,” “OUR
STRUGGLE FOR THE FOURTEENTH COLONY,”
“ARNOLD’S MARCH FROM
CAMBRIDGE TO QUEBEC,”
ETC.

VOLUME I

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1919

All rights reserved

Copyright, 1919,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and printed. Published December, 1919.

Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.–Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

TO

HENRY CABOT LODGE, LL.D.

SENATOR OF THE UNITED STATES
HISTORIAN
PRESIDENT OF THE MASSACHUSETTS HISTORICAL SOCIETY
WHO GAVE THE AUTHOR INVALUABLE ASSISTANCE
IN THE COLLECTION OF MATERIAL RELATING
TO THE WAR WITH MEXICO
THIS WORK
IS VERY RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

PREFACE
As every one understands, our conflict with Mexico has been almost
entirely eclipsed by the greater wars following it. But in the field of thought
mere size does not count for much; and while the number of troops and the
lists of casualties give the present subject little comparative importance, it
has ample grounds for claiming attention. As a territorial stake New
Mexico, Arizona and California were of immense value. National honor
was involved, and not a few of the Mexicans thought their national
existence imperilled. Some of the diplomatic questions were of the utmost
difficulty and interest. The clash of North and South, American and
Mexican, produced extraordinary lights and shades, and in both countries
the politics that lay behind the military operations made a dramatic and
continual by-play. The military conduct of the governments—especially our
own—and the behavior of our troops on foreign soil afforded instruction
worthy to be pondered. While vast concentrations of forces and complicated
tactical operations on a great scale were out of the question, the handling of
even small armies at a long distance from home and in a region that was not
only foreign but strange, created problems of a peculiar interest and
afforded lessons of a peculiar value, such as no earlier or later war of ours
has provided; and the examples of courage, honor and heroism exhibited in
a conflict not only against man but against nature merited correct
appreciation and lasting remembrance.[1][A]
The warrant for offering another work on the subject rests primarily on the
extent and results of the author’s investigations. His intention was to obtain
substantially all the valuable information regarding it that is in existence,
and no effort was spared to reach his end. The appendix of volume II gives
a detailed account of the sources. By special authorization from the
Presidents of the United States and Mexico it was possible to examine
every pertinent document belonging to the two governments. The search
extended to the archives of Great Britain, France, Spain, Cuba, Colombia
and Peru, those of the American and Mexican states, and those of Mexican
cities. The principal libraries here, in Mexico and in Europe, the collections
of our historical societies, and papers belonging to many individuals in this

country and elsewhere were sifted. It may safely be estimated that the
author examined personally more than 100,000 manuscripts bearing upon
the subject, more than 1200 books and pamphlets, and also more than 200
periodicals, the most important of which were studied, issue by issue, for
the entire period.[B] Almost exclusively the book is based upon first-hand
sources, printed matter having been found of little use except for the
original material it contains or for data regarding biography, geography,
customs, industries and other ancillary subjects.[2]
The author also talked or corresponded with as many of the veterans as he
could reach, and he spent more than a year, all told, in Mexico, where he
not only studied the chief battlefields but endeavored, through
conversations with Mexicans of all grades and by the aid of foreigners long
resident in the country, to become well acquainted with the character and
psychology of the people. As the war was fought almost exclusively among
them, and its inception, course and results depended in large part upon these
factors, the author attaches not a little importance to his opportunities for
such personal investigations and to his Mexican data in general.[2]
Probably more than nine tenths of the material used in the preparation of
this work is in fact new. No previous writer on the subject had been through
the diplomatic and military archives of either belligerent nation, for
example. Virtually a still larger percentage is new, for the published
documents needed to be compared with the originals. In the printed
American reports relating to the battles of September 8 and 13, 1847, for
instance, over fifty departures from the manuscripts, that seemed worth
noting, were found. Nor did the additional documents prove by any means
to supply mere details. A great number of unprinted statements from
subordinate officers, who were nearer to the facts than their superiors could
be, were discovered. The major official reports needed both to be
supplemented and to be corrected. Such reports were in most instances
colored more or less, and in some radically distorted, for personal reasons
or from a justifiable desire to produce an effect on the subordinates
concerned, the army in general, the writer’s government, the enemy, and the
public at home and abroad; while, as General Scott stated in orders,
unintentional omissions and mistakes were “common.” Taylor’s account of
the battle of May 9, 1846, for example, failed completely to explain his
victory. It has been only by obtaining and comparing a large number of

statements that approximate verity has been reached. The same has been
true of the diplomatic and political aspects of the subject. The reports of the
British, French and Spanish ministers residing at Mexico, to cite one
illustration, proved indispensable. In reality, therefore, aside from its
broader outlines the field presented ample opportunities for study; and
while no doubt so extended an investigation included many facts of slight
value, La Rochefoucauld was right when he said, “To know things
perfectly, one should know them in detail.”[3]
As a particular consequence of this full inquiry, an episode that has been
regarded both in the United States and abroad as discreditable to us, appears
now to wear quite a different complexion. Such a result, it may be
presumed, will gratify patriotic Americans, but the author must candidly
admit that he began with no purpose or even thought of reaching it. His
view of the war at the outset of his special inquiries coincided substantially
with that prevailing in New England, and the subject was taken up simply
because he felt convinced that it had not been studied thoroughly. This
conviction, indeed, has seemed to be gaining ground rapidly for some time,
and hence it is believed that new opinions, resting upon facts, will be
acceptable now in place of opinions resting largely upon traditional
prejudices and misinformation.
Some might suggest that only a military man could properly write this
work. But, in the first place, the author did not wish to prepare a technical
military account of the war. His aim was to offer a correct and complete
view of it suitable for all interested in American history, and it will be found
that politics, diplomacy and other phases of the subject required as full
investigation as did its military aspects.
Secondly, the author took pains to qualify himself for his task. The real
difficulty of the commanding general consists in applying the principles of
war under complicated, obscure and changeful conditions, and in
overcoming “friction” of many sorts. The intellectual side of the art is
readily enough understood. “In war everything is very simple,” wrote
Clausewitz, the fountainhead of the modern system. “The theory of the
great speculative combinations of war is simple enough in itself,” said
Jomini; “it only requires intelligence and attentive reflection.” “Strategy is
the application of common sense to the conduct of war,” declared Von
Moltke. Arnold in his Lectures on Modern History said: “An unprofessional

person may, without blame, speak or write on military subjects, and may
judge of them sufficiently;” and the eminent military authority, G. F. R.
Henderson, endorsed this view. “The theory of war is simple,” wrote
another expert, “and there is no reason why any man who chooses to take
the trouble to read and reflect carefully on one or two of the acknowledged
best books thereon, should not attain to a fair knowledge thereof.” As may
be seen from the list of printed sources, the present author—beginning with
the volumes recommended by a board of officers to the graduates of the
United States Military Academy—did much more than is here proposed.
Finally, during the entire time occupied in writing this work he fortunately
enjoyed the advantage of corresponding and occasionally conferring with
Brigadier General Oliver L. Spaulding, Jr., of the United States Field
Artillery, formerly instructor at the Army Service Schools, Fort
Leavenworth, and more recently Assistant Commandant of the School of
Fire, Fort Sill, who had distinguished himself not only in the service but as
a writer on professional subjects. General Spaulding has kindly discussed
with the author such military questions as have arisen, and has read
critically all the battle chapters. No responsibility should, however, be
attached to him, if a mistake is detected.[4]
A word must be added with reference to the notes. These have been placed
at the ends of the volumes because the author believes the best plan will be
to read the text of each chapter before looking at the notes that bear upon it,
and also in part because he did not wish any one to feel that he was
parading his discussions and citations. The notes contain supplementary
material designed to make the work a critical as well as a narrative history,
and contain also specific references to the sources on which the text is
based. These references involved a most annoying problem. When one’s
citations are limited in number and proceed in single file, as it were, they
can be handled easily. But in the present instance as many as 1800
documents were used for a chapter, not a few of which were cited more than
once; and each sentence of the text—to speak broadly—resulted from
comparing a number of sources. Under these conditions the usual method
would have produced a repellent mass of references, perhaps greater in
extent than the text itself, which would have been very expensive to print
and from their multiplicity would have been extremely inconvenient. Where
that method appeared feasible it was adopted, but as a rule the references

have been grouped by paragraphs or topics. In many cases, however, pains
have been taken to indicate in the text itself the basis of important
statements, and further hints will be found in the notes. The reader can thus
always ascertain in general the basis of the text, and will find specific
references wherever the author has thought it likely they would be desired.
The special student will wish to look up all the citations bearing on any
topic that interests him. No doubt the plan is somewhat unsatisfactory, but
after studying the subject for a dozen years the author feels sure that any
other would have been more so.[5]
To thank all who kindly assisted the author to obtain material is practically
impossible; but a number of names appear in the list of MS. sources, and
others must be mentioned here. Without the cordial support of Presidents
Theodore Roosevelt and Porfirio Diaz, Secretary of State Elihu Root,
Minister of Relations Ignacio Mariscal, and Senator Henry Cabot Lodge
this history could not have been written; and the author acknowledges with
no less pleasure his special obligations to Whitelaw Reid, American
Ambassador to Great Britain, Joseph E. Willard, Ambassador to Spain;
Henri Vignaux, First Secretary of our embassy at Paris; J. J. Limantour,
Minister of Hacienda, Mexico; Major General J. Franklin Bell, Chief of
Staff; Major General F. C. Ainsworth, Adj. Gen.; Admiral Alfred T. Mahan;
Admiral French E. Chadwick; Brigadier General J. E. Kuhn, Head of the
War College, Washington; Dr. J. Franklin Jameson, Director of the
Department of Historical Research, Carnegie Institution; Dr. Gaillard Hunt,
Chief of the Division of MSS., Library of Congress; Dr. St. George L.
Sioussat, Brown University; Dr. Eugene C. Barker, University of Texas; Dr.
Herbert E. Bolton, Professor Frederick J. Teggart and Dr. H. I. Priestley of
the University of California; Dr. R. W. Kelsey of Haverford College; Dr. J.
W. Jordan, Pennsylvania Historical Society; Dr. Worthington C. Ford,
Editor for the Massachusetts Historical Society; Dr. Solon J. Buck of the
Minnesota Historical Society; R. D. W. Connor, Secretary of the Historical
Commission of North Carolina; Dr. R. P. Brooks of the University of
Georgia; Dr. Dunbar Rowland, Director of the Archives and Historical
Department of Mississippi; T. M. Owen, Director of the Historical
Department of Alabama; Dr. George M. Philips, State Normal School, West
Chester, Pa.; Waldo G. Leland, Secretary of the American Historical
Association; W. B. Douglas and Miss Stella M. Drumm, Librarian, of the
Missouri Historical Society; Dr. Clarence E. Alvord of the University of

Illinois and Mrs. Alvord (formerly Miss Idress Head, Librarian of the
Missouri Historical Society); Ignacio Molina, Head of the Cartography
Section, Department of Fomento, Mexico; Charles W. Stewart, Librarian of
the Navy Department; James W. Cheney, long the Librarian of the War
Department; Major Gustave R. Lukesh, Director, and Henry E. Haferkorn,
Librarian of the United States Engineer School, Washington Barracks; D. C.
Brown, Librarian of the Indiana State Library; Victor H. Paltsits,
Department of MSS., New York Public Library; W. L. Ostrander of the
library at West Point; Lieutenant James R. Jacobs, 28th United States
Infantry; Dr. Katherine J. Gallagher; Dr. Martha L. Edwards. To the widow
of Admiral Charles S. Sperry and their son, Professor Charles S. Sperry, the
author is particularly indebted for an opportunity to examine important
papers left by William L. Marcy. Valuable suggestions were most kindly
given by Dr. William A. Dunning of Columbia University and Dr. Davis R.
Dewey of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, who read portions of
the text, by Francis W. Halsey, Esq., of New York, who read nearly all of it,
and by Dr. Edward Channing of Harvard University, who was so good as to
look over more or less closely all of the proofs. To the helpers not
mentioned by name the author begs leave to offer thanks no less sincere.
Finally, the author desires to mention the enterprise and public spirit shown
by the publishers in bringing out so expensive a work at this time of
uncertainty.
The Century Club, New York
September, 1919.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME I
PAGE
Maps and Plans in Volume I xvii
Conspectus of Events xix
Pronunciation of Spanish xxi
CHAPTER
I. Mexico and the Mexicans 1
II. The Political Education of Mexico 29
The Relations between the United States and Mexico,
III. 58
1825–1843
The Relations between the United States and Mexico,
IV. 82
1843–1846
V. The Mexican Attitude on the Eve of War 102
VI. The American Attitude on the Eve of War 117
VII. The Preliminaries of the Conflict 138
VIII. Palo Alto and Resaca de Guerrero 156
IX. The United States Meets the Crisis 181
X. The Chosen Leaders Advance 204
XI. Taylor Sets out for Saltillo 225
XII. Monterey 239
XIII. Saltillo, Parras, and Tampico 262
XIV. Santa Fe 284
XV. Chihuahua 298
XVI. The California Question 315
XVII. The Conquest of California 331
XVIII. The Genesis of Two Campaigns 347
XIX. Santa Anna Prepares to Strike 370
XX. Buena Vista 384
Notes on Volume I 402

Appendix (Manuscript Sources) 565

MAPS AND PLANS IN VOLUME ONE

As equally good sources disagree sometimes, a few inconsistencies are
unavoidable. Numerous errors have been corrected. An asterisk indicates an
unpublished original. Statements, cited in the notes, have also been used.
1. Mexico in 1919. Based upon standard maps xxii
2. Profile of the Route between Vera Cruz and Mexico 2
Drawn by Lieut. Hardcastle (Sen. Ex. Doc. 1; 30 Cong., 1 sess.).
3. Matamoros and Fort Brown 159
Sketch map based on a *map drawn by Luis Berlandier, Arista’s chief engineer (War
Dept., Mexico); Meade, Letters, i, 73; McCall, Letters, 444; New Orleans Picayune, June
28, 1846; *sketch by Mansfield, Taylor’s chief engineer (War Dept., Washington); and an
anonymous plan (Mass. Hist. Society).
4. Fort Brown to Brazos Island 162
Sketch map based principally upon the map in Apuntes para la Historia de la Guerra entre
México y los Estados-Unidos and a map by Eaton of Third Infantry (Ho. Ex. Doc. 209;
29 Cong., 1 sess.).
5. Battle of Palo Alto 164
Sketch map drawn by a U. S. army officer. Based on Eaton’s plan (Ho. Ex. Doc., 209; 29
Cong., 1 sess.); a *sketch by Berlandier (War Dept., Mexico); Apuntes; México á través
de los Siglos, iv, 562; El Republicano (Berlandier); a map in Campaña contra los Norte-
Americanos; a map by Lieut. Dobbins in Life of General Taylor; and Journal of Milit.
Service Institution, xli, 96.
6. Battle of Resaca de la Palma (i.e. Resaca de Guerrero) 170
Sketch map based on Apuntes; New Orleans Picayune, June 25, 1846, from official
drawings; a plan by Dobbins in Life of General Taylor; a map in Campaña contra, etc.; a
plan by Berlandier in El Republicano; a plan by Eaton (Ho. Ex. Doc. 209; 29 Cong., 1
sess.); French, Two Wars, 52; and Journal of Milit. Service Instit., xli, 100.
7. From Matamoros to Monterey 210
Based on an official Mexican map prepared by the Fomento Dept. and on Gen. Arista’s
map.
8. Battles of Monterey: General Map 232
Based on *three plans drawn by Lieut. Gardner from surveys of Lieut. Scarritt (War
Dept., Washington); Picayune Extra, Nov. 19, 1846 (Lieut. Benjamin); a *drawing by

Adjutant Heiman (Tennessee Hist. Society); a map in Apuntes; and a plan by Balbontín
(Invasión Americana).
9. Battles of Monterey. Central Operations 240
Based on the same sources as No. 8 supra.
10. General Wool’s March 271
Based on reconnaissances of Capt. Hughes, Lieut. Sitgreaves, and Lieut. Franklin (Sen.
Ex. Doc. 32; 31 Cong., 1 sess.).
11. Tampico and Its Environs 276
Based on a sketch by Lee and Gilmer (War Dept., Washington); and a Fomento Dept.
Map (see No. 7 supra).
12. General Kearny’s March to Santa Fe 287
From a sketch drawn by A. Wislizenus (Sen. Misc. Doc. 26; 30 Cong., 1 sess.).
13. El Paso to Rosales, Mexico 305
From a U. S. War College map, Washington.
14. Battle of Sacramento 307
Based on a map in Sen. Ex. Doc. 1; 30 Cong., 1 sess.; and a plan in México á través de
los Siglos, iv, 644.
15. California in 1846 316
Based on a map in Sen. Ex. Doc. 1; 30 Cong., 1 sess.
16. Northern California 317
From a sketch by Lieut. Derby (Sen. Ex. Doc. 18; 31 Cong., 1 sess.) and recent maps.
17. Fight at San Pascual 341
From a plan in Sen. Ex. Doc. 1; 30 Cong., 1 sess.
18. Fight near Los Angeles 344
From a plan in Sen. Ex. Doc. 1; 30 Cong., 1 sess.
19. General Patterson’s March 360
From a map in Ho. Ex. Doc. 13; 31 Cong., 2 sess.
20. From Mexico City to Agua Nueva 381
From a Fomento Dept. map.
21. From Monterey to La Encarnación 382
Based on a map in Rápida Ojeada sobre la Campaña, etc.; and a *sketch by Lee and
Gilmer (War Dept., Washington).
22. Battle of Buena Vista 387
Based on a map drawn by Capt. Linnard from the surveys of Capt. Linnard and Lieuts.
Pope and Franklin (Sen. Ex. Doc. 1; 30 Cong., 1 sess.); *two plans by the same officers
(War Dept., Washington); a *map based on a sketch by Dr. Vanderlinden, chief Mexican

surgeon (War Dept., Mexico); a map by Balbontín (Invasión Americana); a *map drawn
by Stanislaus Lasselle (Indiana State Library); a plan by Lieut. Green (Scribner,
Campaign in Mexico); *Croquis para la intelligencia de la Batalla de la Angostura (War
Dept., Washington).

CONSPECTUS OF EVENTS

1845
March. The United States determines to annex Texas; W. S. Parrott
sent to conciliate Mexico.
July. Texas consents; Taylor proceeds to Corpus Christi.
Oct. 17. Larkin appointed a confidential agent in California.
Nov. 10. Slidell ordered to Mexico.
Dec. 20. Slidell rejected by Herrera.
1846
Jan. 13. Taylor ordered to the Rio Grande.
Mar. 8. Taylor marches from Corpus Christi.
21. Slidell finally rejected by Paredes.
28. Taylor reaches the Rio Grande.
Apr. 25. Thornton attacked.
May 8. Battle of Palo Alto.
9. Battle of Resaca de la Palma.
13. The war bill becomes a law.
June 5. Kearny’s march to Santa Fe begins.
July 7. Monterey, California, occupied.
14. Camargo occupied.
Aug. 4. Paredes overthrown.
7. First attack on Alvarado.
13. Los Angeles, California, occupied.
16. Santa Anna lands at Vera Cruz.
18. Kearny takes Santa Fe.
19. Taylor advances from Camargo.
Sept. 14. Santa Anna enters Mexico City.

20–24. Operations at Monterey, Mex.
22–23. Insurrection in California precipitated.
23. Wool’s advance from San Antonio begins.
25. Kearny leaves Santa Fe for California.
Oct. 8. Santa Anna arrives at San Luis Potosí.
Oct. 15. Second attack on Alvarado.
24. San Juan Bautista captured by Perry.
28. Tampico evacuated by Parrodi.
29. Wool occupies Monclova.
Nov. 15. Tampico captured by Conner.
16. Saltillo occupied by Taylor.
18. Scott appointed to command the Vera Cruz expedition.
Dec. 5. Wool occupies Parras.
6. Kearny’s fight at San Pascual.
25. Doniphan’s skirmish at El Brazito.
27. Scott reaches Brazos Id.
29. Victoria occupied.
1847
Jan. 3. Scott orders troops from Taylor.
8. Fight at the San Gabriel, Calif.
9. Fight near Los Angeles, Calif.
11. Mexican law regarding Church property.
28. Santa Anna’s march against Taylor begins.
Feb. 5. Taylor places himself at Agua Nueva.
19. Scott reaches Tampico.
22–23. Battle of Buena Vista.
27. Insurrection at Mexico begins.
28. Battle of Sacramento.
Mar. 9. Scott lands near Vera Cruz.
29. Vera Cruz occupied.
30. Operations in Lower California opened.
Apr. 8. Scott’s advance from Vera Cruz begins.

18. Battle of Cerro Gordo; Tuxpán captured by Perry.
19. Jalapa occupied.
May 15. Worth enters Puebla.
June 6. Trist opens negotiations through the British legation.
16. San Juan Bautista again taken.
Aug. 7. The advance from Puebla begins.
20. Battles of Contreras and Churubusco.
Aug. 24–Sept. 7. Armistice.
Sept. 8. Battle of Molino del Rey.
13. Battle of Chapultepec; the “siege” of Puebla begins.
14. Mexico City occupied.
22. Peña y Peña assumes the Presidency.
Oct. 9. Fight at Huamantla.
20. Trist reopens negotiations.
Nov. 11. Mazatlán occupied by Shubrick.
1848
Feb. 2. Treaty of peace signed.
Mar. 4–5. Armistice ratified.
10. Treaty accepted by U. S. Senate.
May 19,
Treaty accepted by Mexican Congress.
24.
30. Ratifications of the treaty exchanged.
June 12. Mexico City evacuated.
July 4. Treaty proclaimed by President Polk.

THE PRONUNCIATION OF SPANISH

The niceties of the matter would be out of place here, but a few general
rules may prove helpful.

A as in English “ah”; e, at the end of a syllable, like a in “fame,” otherwise
like e in “let”; i like i in “machine”; o, at the end of a syllable, like o in
“go,” otherwise somewhat like o in “lot”; u like u in “rude” (but, unless
marked with two dots, silent between g or q and e or i); y like ee in “feet.”
C like k (but, before e and i, like [C]th in “thin”); ch as in “child”; g as in
“go” (but, before e and i, like a harsh h); h silent; j like a harsh h; ll like
[D]lli in “million”; ñ like ni in “onion”; qu like k; r is sounded with a
vibration (trill) of the tip of the tongue (rr a longer and more forcible sound
of the same kind); s as in “sun”; x like x in “box” (but, in “México” and a
few other names, like Spanish j); z like [C]th in “thin.”
Words bearing no mark of accentuation are stressed on the last syllable if
they end in any consonant except n or s, but on the syllable next to the last
if they end in n, s or a vowel.

MEXICO IN 1919
Larger image

THE WAR WITH MEXICO

I
MEXICO AND THE MEXICANS
1800–1845

Mexico, an immense cornucopia, hangs upon the Tropic of Cancer and
opens toward the north pole. The distance across its mouth is about the
same as that between Boston and Omaha, and the line of its western coast
would probably reach from New York to Salt Lake City. Nearly twenty
states like Ohio could be laid down within its limits, and in 1845 it included
also New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, Nevada, California and portions of
Colorado and Wyoming.[1]
On its eastern side the ground rises almost imperceptibly from the Gulf of
Mexico for a distance varying from ten to one hundred miles, and ascends
then into hills that soon become lofty ranges, while on the western coast
series of cordilleras tower close to the ocean. Between the two mountain
systems lies a plateau varying in height from 4000 to 8000 feet, so level—
we are told—that one could drive, except where deep gullies make trouble,
from the capital of Montezuma to Santa Fe, New Mexico. The country is
thus divided into three climatic zones, in one or another of which, it has
been said, every plant may be found that grows between the pole and the
equator.[1][E]
Except near the United States the coast lands are tropical or semi-tropical;
and the products of the soil, which in many quarters is extraordinarily deep
and rich, are those which naturally result from extreme humidity and heat.
Next comes an intermediate zone varying in general height from about 2000
to about 4000 feet, where the rainfall, though less abundant than on the
coast, is ample, and the climate far more salubrious than below. Here, in
view of superb mountains and even of perpetual snows, one finds a sort of
eternal spring and a certain blending of the tropical and the temperate
zones. Wheat and sugar sometimes grow on the same plantation, and both
of them luxuriantly; while strawberries and coffee are not far apart.[1]

PROFILE OF THE ROUTE BETWEEN MEXICO AND VERA CRUZ

The central plateau lacks moisture and at present lacks trees. The greater
part of it is indeed a semi-desert, though a garden wherever water can be
supplied. During the wet season—June to October—it is covered with wild
growths, but the rains merely dig huge gullies or barrancas, and almost as
soon as they are over, most of the vegetation begins to wither away. The
climate of the plateau is quite equable, never hot and never cold. Wheat,
Indian corn and maguey—the plant from which pulque, the drink of the
common people, is made—are the most important products; and at the north
great herds of cattle roam. In the mountains, finally, numberless mines yield
large quantities of silver, some gold, and a considerable amount of copper
and lead.[1]
The principal cities on the eastern coast are Vera Cruz, the chief seaport,
and Tampico, not far south of the Rio Grande River. In the temperate zone
between Vera Cruz and Mexico lie Jalapa and Orizaba, and behind Tampico
lies Monterey. On the central plateau one finds the capital reposing at an
elevation of about eight thousand feet and, about seventy miles toward the
southeast, Puebla; while on the other side of the capital are the smaller
towns of Querétaro and San Luis Potosí toward the north, and Zacatecas
and Chihuahua toward the northwest. In the middle zone of the Pacific
slope rises the large city of Guadalajara, capital of Jalisco state; and along
the coast below may be found a number of seaports, the most important of
which are Guaymas, far to the north, Mazatlán opposite the point of Lower
California, San Blas a little farther down, and Acapulco in the south.[1]

Exactly how large the population of Mexico was in 1845
THE PEOPLE
one cannot be sure, and it included quite a number of
racial mixtures; but for the present inquiry we may
suppose it consisted of 1,000,000 whites, 4,000,000 Indians, and 2,000,000
of mixed white and Indian blood.[2] The Spaniards from Europe, called
Gachupines in Mexico, were of two principal classes during her colonial
days. Many had been favorites of the Spanish court, or the protégés of such
favorites, and had exiled themselves to occupy for a longer or shorter time
high and lucrative posts; but by far the greater number were men who had
left home in their youth—poor, but robust, energetic and shrewd—to work
their way up. With little difficulty such immigrants found places in
mercantile establishments or on the large estates. Merciless in pursuit of
gain yet kind to their families, faithful to every agreement, and honest when
they could afford to be, they were intrinsically the strongest element of the
population, and almost always they became wealthy.[3]
Their sons, poorly educated, lacking the spur of poverty, and finding
themselves in a situation where idleness and self-indulgence were their
logical habits, commonly took “Siempre alegre” (Ever light-hearted) for
their motto, and spent their energy in debauchery and gambling. To this
result their own fathers, while disgusted with it, usually contributed.
Spanish pride revolted at the ladder of subordination by which these very
men had climbed. They felt ambitious to make gentlemen of their sons, and
some easy position in the army, church or civil service—or, in default of it,
idleness—was the career towards which they pointed; and naturally the
heirs to their wealth, whose ignoble propensities had prevented them from
acquiring efficiency or sense of responsibility, made haste, on getting hold
of the paternal wealth, to squander it. If the pure whites, with some
exceptions of course, fell into this condition, nothing better could fairly be
expected of those who were partly Indian; and before the revolution it was
almost universally felt in Spain and among the influential class of colonials
themselves, that nothing of much value could be expected of Creoles, as the
whites born in Mexico and the half-breeds were generally called. The
achievement of independence naturally tended to increase their self-respect,
broaden their views and stimulate their ambition; but the less than twenty-
five years that elapsed between 1821 and 1846, when the war between
Mexico and the United States began, were not enough to transform
principles, reverse traditions and uproot habits.[3]

The pure-blooded Indians—of whom there were many tribes, little affiliated
if at all—had changed for the worse considerably since the arrival of the
whites. In their struggles against conquest and oppression the most
intelligent, spirited and energetic had succumbed, and the rest, deprived of
strength, happiness, consolation and even hope, and aware that they existed
merely to fill the purses or sate the passions of their masters, had rapidly
degenerated. Their natural apathy, reticence and intensity were at the same
time deepened. While apparently stupid and indifferent, they were capable
of volcanic outbursts. Though fanatically Christian in appearance, they
seem to have practiced often a vague nature worship under the names and
forms of Catholicism. Indeed they were themselves almost a part of the soil,
bound in soul to the spot where they were born; and, although their women
could put on silk slippers to honor a church festival and every hut could
boast a crucifix or a holy image, they lived and often slept beside their
domestic animals with a brutish disregard for dirt.[3]
Legally they had the rights of freemen and were even the wards of the
government, and a very few acquired education and property; but as a rule
they had to live by themselves in little villages under the headship of lazy,
ignorant caciques and the more effective domination of the priests. As the
state levied a small tax upon them and the Church several heavy ones, their
scanty earnings melted fast, and if any surplus accumulated they made a
fiesta in honor of their patron saint, and spent it in masses, fireworks, drink,
gluttony and gambling. When sickness or accident came they had to borrow
of the landowner to whose estate they were attached; and then, as they
could not leave his employ until the debt had been discharged, they not only
became serfs, but in many cases bequeathed their miserable condition to
their children. Silent and sad, apparently frail but capable of great exertion,
trotting barefooted to and from their huts with their coarse black hair
flowing loosely or gathered in two straight braids, watching everything with
eyes that seemed fixed on the ground, loving flowers much but a dagger
more, fond of melody but preferring songs that were melancholy and wild,
always tricky, obstinate, indolent, peevish and careless yet affectionate and
hospitable, often extracting a dry humor from life as their donkeys got
nourishment from the thistles, they went their wretched ways as patient and
inscrutable as the sepoy or the cat—infants with devils inside.[3]

At the head of the social world stood a titled aristocracy
THE CLASSES
maintained by the custom of primogeniture. But as the
nobles were few in number, and for a long time had
possessed no feudal authority, their influence at the period we are studying
depended mainly upon their wealth. Next these came aristocrats of other
kinds. Some claimed the honor of tracing their pedigree to the conquerors,
and with it enjoyed great possessions; and others had the riches without the
descent. The two most approved sources of wealth were the ownership of
immense estates and the ownership of productive mines. On a lower level
stood certain of the rich merchants, and lower still, if they were lucky
enough to gain social recognition, a few of those who acquired property by
dealing in the malodorous government contracts. To these must be added in
general the high dignitaries of the church, the foreign ministers, the
principal generals and statesmen and the most notable doctors and lawyers.
Such was the upper class.[4]
A sort of middle class included the lesser professional men, prelates,
military officers and civil officials, journalists, a few teachers, business men
of importance and some fairly well-to-do citizens without occupations. Of
small farms and small mines there were practically none, and the inferior
clergy signified little. The smaller importing and wholesale merchants came
to be almost entirely British, French and German soon after independence
was achieved, and the retailers were mostly too low in the scale to rank
anywhere. The case of those engaged in the industries was even more
peculiar. Working at a trade seemed menial to the Spaniard, especially since
the idea of labor was associated with the despised Indians, and most of the
half-breeds and Indians lacked the necessary intelligence. Skilled workers
at the trades were therefore few, and these few mostly high-priced
foreigners. Articles of luxury could be had but not comforts; pastries and
ices but not good bread; saddles covered with gold and embroidery, but not
serviceable wagons; and the highly important factor of intelligent, self-
respecting handicraftsmen was thus well-nigh missing.[4]
The laboring class consisted almost entirely of half-breeds and Indians. In
public affairs they were not considered, and their own degraded state made
them despise their tasks. Finally, the dregs of the population, especially in
the large cities, formed a vicious, brutal and semi-savage populace. At the
capital there were said to be nearly 20,000 of the léperos, as they were

called, working a little now and then, but mainly occupied in watching the
religious processions, begging, thieving, drinking and gambling. In all,
Humboldt estimated at 200,000 or 300,000 the number of these creatures,
whose law was lawlessness and whose heaven would have been a hell.[4]
The only church legally tolerated was that of Rome; and
THE CHURCH
this, as the unchallenged authority in the school and the
pulpit, the keeper of confessional secrets and family
skeletons, and the sole dispenser of organized charity, long wielded a
tremendous power. The clerical fuero, which exempted all ecclesiastics
from the jurisdiction of the civil courts, reinforced it, and the wealth and
financial connections of the Church did the same. In certain respects,
however, the strength of the organization began to diminish early in the
nineteenth century; and in particular the Inquisition was abolished in
Mexico, as it was in Spain. Soon after the colony became independent, a
disposition to bar ecclesiastics from legislative bodies, to philosophize on
religious matters and to view Protestants with some toleration manifested
itself. Ten years more, and the urgent need of public schools led to certain
steps, as we shall see, toward secular education. Political commotions, the
exactions of powerful civil authorities under the name of loans, and various
other circumstances cut into the wealth of the Church; and the practical
impossibility of selling the numberless estates upon which it had mortgages
or finding good reinvestments in the case of sales, compelled it, as the
country became less and less prosperous, to put up with delays and losses of
interest.[5]
Moreover the Church was to no slight extent a house divided against itself.
Under Spanish rule and substantially down to 1848, all the high dignities
fell to Gachupines, who naturally faced toward Spain, whereas the parish
priests were mainly Creoles with Mexican sympathies; and while the
bishops and other managers had the incomes of princes, nearly all of the
monks and ordinary priests lived in poverty. There was, therefore, but little
in common between the two ranks except the bare fact of being churchmen,
which was largely cancelled on the one side by contempt and on the other
side by envy; and the common priests, having generally sided against Spain
during the revolution and always been closely in touch with the people,
exercised, in spite of their pecuniary exactions, an influence that largely
balanced the authority of their heads. Finally, the ignorance of most

ecclesiastics and the immorality of nearly all greatly diminished their moral
force. A large number, even among the higher clergy, were unable to read
the mass; and the monks, who in the early days of the colony had rendered
good service as missionaries, were now recruited—wrote an American
minister—from “the very dregs of the people,” and constituted a public
scandal.[5]
Still, the Church wielded immense power as late as 1845, and this was
reinforced by the type of religion that it offered. High and low alike, the
Mexicans, with some exceptions, lived in the senses, differing mainly in the
refinement of the gratifications they sought; and the priests offered them a
sensuous worship. Sometimes, almost crazed by superstitious fears, men
would put out the lights in some church, strip themselves naked, and ply the
scourge till every blow fell with a splash. It was pleasanter, however, and
usually edifying enough, to kneel at the mass, gaze upon the extraordinary
display of gold and silver, gorgeous vestments, costly images and
elaborately carved and gilded woodwork, follow the smoke of the incense
rolling upward from golden censers, listen to sonorous incantations called
prayers, and confess to some fat priest well qualified to sympathize with
every earthy desire. A man who played this game according to the rule was
good and safe. A brigand counting the chances of a fray could touch his
scapularies with pious confidence, and the intending murderer solicit a
benediction on his knife. Enlightened Catholics as well as enlightened non-
Catholics deplored the state of religion in Mexico.[5]
Next after the Church came the “army,” which meant a social order, a body
of professional military men—that is to say, officers–exempted by their
fuero from the jurisdiction of the civil law and almost exclusively devoted
to the traditions, principles and interests of their particular group. As the
Church held the invisible power, the army held the visible; and whenever
the bells ceased to ring, the roll of the drum could be heard. Every President
and almost every other high official down to the close of our Mexican war
was a soldier, and sympathized with his class; and as almost every family of
any importance included members of the organization, its peculiar interests
had a strong social backing. By force of numbers, too, this body was
influential, for at one time, when the army contained scarcely 20,000
soldiers, it had 24,000 officers; and so powerful became the group that in

1845, when the real net revenue of the government did not exceed
$12,000,000, its appropriation was more than $21,000,000.[5]
Under Spanish rule, although the army enjoyed great privileges, it had been
kept in strict subordination, and usefully employed on the frontiers; but
independence changed the situation. Apparently the revolution was effected
by the military men, and they not merely claimed but commonly received
the full credit. Not only did a large number of unfit persons, who pretended
to have commanded men during the struggle, win commissions, but
wholesale promotions were made in order to gain the favor of the officers;
and in these ways the organization was both demoralized and strengthened.
Over and over again military men learned to forswear their allegiance, and
at one time the government actually set before the army, as a standard of
merit, success in inducing soldiers of the opposite party to change sides.[5]
In the course of political commotions, to be reviewed in
THE ARMY
the next chapter, the armed forces were more and more
stationed at the cities, where they lost discipline and
became the agents of political schemers; and naturally, when the
government admitted their right to take part as organized bodies in political
affairs, the barracks came to supersede the legislative halls, bullets took the
place of arguments, and the military men, becoming the arbiters on disputed
points, regarded themselves as supreme. Moreover, every administration
felt it must have the support of this organization, and, not being able to
dominate it, had to be dominated by it. Political trickery could therefore
bring the officer far greater rewards than professional merit, and success in
a revolt not only wiped away all stains of insubordination, cowardice and
embezzlement, but ensured promotion. A second lieutenant who figured in
six affairs of that sort became almost necessarily a general, and frequently
civilians who rendered base but valuable services on such occasions were
given high army rank. No doubt some risk was involved, but it was really
the nation as a whole that paid the penalties; and anyhow one could be bold
for a day far more easily than be courageous, patient, studious, honest and
loyal for a lifetime. All true military standards were thus turned bottom-side
up, and some of the worst crimes a soldier can perpetrate became in Mexico
the brightest of distinctions.[5]
Of course the discovery that rank and pay did not depend upon deserving
them set every corrupt officer at work to get advanced, while it drove from

the service, or at least discouraged, the few men of talents and honor; and as
all subordination ceased, a general not only preferred officers willing to
further his dishonorable interests, but actually dreaded to have strong and
able men serve in his command. In 1823 the Mexican minister of war
reported to Congress, “Almost the whole army must be replaced, for it has
contracted vices that will not be removed radically in any other way,” and
four years later a militia system was theoretically established with a view to
that end; but the old organization continued to flourish, and in April, 1846,
the British minister said, “The Officers ... are, as a Corps, the worst perhaps
to be found in any part of the world. They are totally ignorant of their duty,
... and their personal courage, I fear, is of a very negative character.”[5]
In 1838, a German visitor stated there were a hundred and sixty generals for
an army of thirty thousand, and this was perhaps a fair estimate of the usual
proportion; but out of all these, every one of whom could issue a glowing
proclamation, probably not a single “Excellency” could properly handle a
small division, while few out of thousands of colonels could lead a regiment
on the field, and some were not qualified to command a patrol. A battle was
almost always a mob fight ending in a cavalry charge; and Waddy
Thompson, an American minister to Mexico, said he did not believe a
manoeuvre in the face of the enemy was ever attempted. Naturally the
general administration of military affairs became a chaos; and, worst of all,
a self-respecting general thought it almost a disgrace to obey an order—
even an order from the President.[5]
The privates and non-commissioned officers, on the other hand, mainly
Indians with a sprinkling of half-breeds, were not bad material. The Indians
in particular could be described as naturally among the best soldiers in the
world, for they were almost incredibly frugal, docile and enduring, able to
make astonishing marches, and quite ready—from animal courage, racial
apathy or indifference about their miserable lives—to die on the field. But
usually they were seized by force, herded up in barracks as prisoners,
liberally cudgelled but scantily fed, and after a time driven off to the capital,
chained, in a double file, with distracted women beside them wailing to
every saint. When drilled enough to march fairly well through the street in
column, clothed in a serge uniform or a coarse linen suit, and equipped with
an old English musket and some bad powder, they were called soldiers, and

were exhorted to earn immortal glory; but naturally they got away if they
could, and frequently on a long expedition half a corps deserted.[5]
Such men were by no means “thinking bayonets,” and as a rule they shot
very badly, often firing with their guns at the hip in order to avoid the heavy
recoil. Not only did they lack the inspiration of good officers, but in
pressing times it was customary to empty the prisons, and place their
inmates in the ranks to inculcate vice. The government furnished their
wages, upon which as a rule they had to live from day to day, even more
irregularly than it paid the officers, and the latter frequently embezzled the
money; so that it became a common practice to sell one’s arms and
accoutrements, if possible, for what they would bring. Finally, the duty
always enjoined upon the troops was “blind obedience,” not the use of what
little intelligence they possessed; and their bravery, like that of such officers
as had any, was mainly of the impulsive, passionate and therefore transient
sort, whereas Anglo-Saxon courage is cool, calculating, resolute and
comparatively inexhaustible.[5]
The special pride of all military men was the cavalry; but the horses were
small, and the riders badly trained and led. “The regular Mexican cavalry is
worth nothing,” wrote the British minister early in 1846; and as the mounts
were quite commonly hired merely for the parades, just as the rolls of the
whole army were stuffed with fictitious names on which the officers drew
pay, it was never certain how much of the nominal force could be set in
motion. As for the artillery, Waddy Thompson remarked that in a battle of
1841 between the foremost generals of the country, not one ball in a
thousand reached the enemy. On the other hand there were excellent
military bands, and one of them dispensed lively selections every afternoon
in front of the palace at Mexico.[5]
Third in the official order of precedence and in the
THE CIVIL
OFFICIALS actual control of affairs came the government officials,
and these, like the army and the clergy, formed a special
group with a similar fuero, a similar self-interest and a similar disregard for
the general good. Once appointed to an office one had a vested right
therein, and could not legally be removed without a prosecution. To
eliminate a person in that manner was extremely difficult; and when the
government, in a few notorious instances, tried ejectment, the newspapers

of the opposition hastened to raise an outcry against it for attacking
property rights, and the culprits were soon reinstated.[5]
Offering such permanence of tenure, a “genteel” status, idleness even
beyond the verge of ennui, a perfect exemption from the burden of
initiative, and occasional opportunities for illegitimate profits, government
offices appealed strongly to the Mexicans, and a greed for them—dignified
with the name of aspirantism when it aimed at the higher positions—was a
recognized malady of the nation. To get places, all the tricks and schemes
employed in the army and, if possible, still more degrading intrigues were
put in play; and offices had to be created by the wholesale to satisfy an
appetite that grew by what it fed upon. The clerks became so numerous that
work room—or rather desk room—could not be provided for all of them.
Only a favored portion had actual employment and received full pay—if
they received any—while the rest were laid off on barely enough to support
life. Some were competent and willing to be faithful; but when they saw
ignorance, laziness, disloyalty and fraud given the precedence, they
naturally asked, Why do right? Idleness is the mother of vice; and so there
was a very large body of depraved and discontented fellows, wriggling
incessantly for preferment, fawning, backbiting, grabbing at any scheme
that would advance their interests, intensely jealous of one another, but
ready to make common cause against any purification of the civil service.[5]
How justice was administered in Mexico one is now able to surmise. The
laws, not codified for centuries, were a chaos. Owing to numberless
intricacies and inconsistencies, the simplest case could be made almost
eternal, especially as all proceedings were slow and tedious. A litigant
prepared to spend money seldom needed to lose a suit. Some cases lasted
three generations. The methods of administering justice, reported the British
representative in 1835, “afford every facility” for “artifices and
manoeuvres.”[6]
Another difficulty was that the courts lacked prestige. During the revolution
the magistrates, practically all of them Gachupines, committed so many acts
of injustice in behalf of the government, that people forgot the proper
connection between crime and retribution. Punishment seemed like a
disease that any one might get. In 1833 the minister of this department
complained that for five years Congress had almost ignored the
administration of justice; and in 1845, the head of the same department said

that for a long time the government had systematically reduced the dignity
and influence of the judges and magistrates. Their pay was not only
diminished but often withheld; and the official journal once remarked, that
the authorities had more important business in hand than paying legal
functionaries.[6]
This was obviously wrong, but in a sense the judges merited such treatment,
for they seem to have lacked even the most necessary qualifications. To
make the situation still worse, the executive authorities had a way of
stepping in and perverting justice arbitrarily. Even the Mexicans were
accustomed to say, “A bad compromise is better than a good case at law”;
but it was naturally aliens who suffered most. “The great and positive evil
which His Majesty’s subjects, in common with other Foreigners, have to
complain of in this country is the corrupt and perverse administration of
justice,” reported the minister of England in 1834.[6]
Criminal law was executed no better than civil. The police of the city are a
complete nullity, stated the American representative in 1845. A fault, a vice
and a crime were treated alike; and the prisons, always crowded with
wrongdoers of every class, became schools in depravity, from which nearly
all, however bad, escaped in the end to prey upon society. Well-known
robbers not only went about in safety, but were treated with kindly
attentions even by their late victims, for all understood that if denounced
and punished, they would sooner or later go free, and have their revenge.[6]

EDUCATION
Adverting formally before Congress in 1841 to the
“notoriously defective” administration of justice, the
Mexican President said, “the root of the evil lies in the
deplorable corruption which pervades all classes of society and in the
absence of any corrective arising from public opinion.” In large measure
this condition of things was chargeable to the low state of religion, but in
part it could be attributed to the want of education. Spain had required
people to think as little as possible, keep still and obey orders; and for such
a rôle enlightenment seemed unnecessary and even dangerous. To read and
write a little and keep accounts fairly well was about enough secular
knowledge for anybody, and the catechism of Father Ripalda, which
enjoined the duty of blind obedience to the King and the Pope, completed
the circle of useful erudition. In the small towns, as there were few
elementary schools, even these attainments could not easily be gained; and

as for the Indians they were merely taught—with a whip at the church door,
if necessary—to fear God, the priest and the magistrate. Religion gave no
help; and the ceremonies of worship benumbed the intellect as much as they
fascinated the senses.[6]
When independence arrived, however, there sprang up not a little
enthusiasm for the education of the people, and the states moved quite
generally in that direction. But there were scarcely any good teachers, few
schoolhouses and only the most inadequate books and appliances; money
could not be found; and the prelates, now chiefly absorbed in their political
avocations, not only failed to promote the cause, but stood in the way of
every step toward secular schools. A few of the leaders—notably Santa
Anna—professed great zeal, but this was all for effect, and they took for
very different uses whatever funds could be extorted from the nation. In
1843 a general scheme of public instruction was decreed, but no means
were provided to carry it into effect. The budget for 1846 assigned $29,613
to this field, of which $8000 was intended for elementary schools, while for
the army and navy it required nearly twenty-two millions. In short, though
of course a limited number of boys and a few girls acquired the rudiments
—and occasionally more—in one way or another, no system of popular
education existed.[6]
Higher instruction was in some respects more flourishing. Before the
revolution the School of Mines, occupying a noble and costly edifice, gave
distinction to the country; the university was respectable; an Academy of
Fine Arts did good work; and botany received much attention. But at the
university mediaeval Latin, scholastic and polemic theology, Aristotle and
arid comments on his writings were the staples, and even these innocent
subjects had to be investigated under the awful eye of the Inquisition.
Speculation on matters of no practical significance formed the substance of
the work, and the young men learned that worst of lessons—to discourse
volubly and plausibly on matters of which they knew nothing. This course
of discipline, emphasizing the natural bent of the Creoles, turned out a set
of conceited rhetoricians, ignorant of history and the real world, but eager
to distinguish themselves by some brilliant experiment. When the yoke of
Spain had been cast off, all these institutions declined greatly, and the
university became so unimportant that in 1843 it was virtually destroyed;
but the view that speculation was better than inquiry, theory better than

knowledge, and talk better than anything—a view that suited Mexican
lightness, indolence and vanity so well, and had so long been taught by
precept and example—still throve despite a few objectors. Of foreign
countries, in particular, very little was commonly known. While elementary
education, then, was nothing, higher education was perhaps worse than
nothing.[6]
Nor could the printed page do much to supply the lack. Only a few had the
taste for reading books or opportunities to gratify the taste, if they possessed
it. Great numbers of catchy pamphlets on the topics of the day flew about
the streets; newspapers had a great vogue; and there were poor echoes of
European speeches, articles and books; but most of the printed material was
shockingly partisan, irresponsible and misleading. “Unfortunately for us,”
observed the minister of the interior in 1838, “the abuse of the liberty of the
press among us is so great, general and constant, that it has only served our
citizens as the light of the meteor to one travelling in a dark night,
misguiding him and precipitating him into an abyss of evils.”[6]
Only some 300,000 out of 3,000,000 white and mixed
THE INDUSTRIES
people were actual producers—three times as many
being clericals, military men, civil officials, lawyers,
doctors and idlers, and the rest old men, women and children. The most
brilliant of their industries was mining, the annual output of which was
about $18,000,000 in 1790, fell during the revolution to $5,000,000, and by
1845 rose again—despite the unwise policy of the government—to about
the earlier level. During the period of depression most of the old proprietors
and many of their properties were ruined; but English companies took up
the work, and although for some time their liberal expenditures went largely
to waste, they gradually learned the business, and their example encouraged
some Germans to enter the field. How greatly the nation profited from the
mines was not entirely clear. About as much silver went abroad each year as
they produced, paying interest on loans that should not have been made,
and buying goods for which substitutes could usually have been
manufactured at home. But the government laid valuable taxes on the
extraction and export of the precious metals, and there was also a profit in
the compulsory minting of them—though, as all the inventiveness of the
nation expended itself in politics, the processes at the mints were about as
tedious and costly in 1845 as while Cortez ruled the country.[7]

Little more can be said for the cultivation of the soil. When Mexico
separated from Spain, the vine and the olive, flax and certain other plants
formerly prohibited were acquired, and coffee soon became important; but
on the other hand agriculture had met with disaster after disaster in the
course of the revolution. “Up to the present,” said a ministerial report in
December, 1843, “agriculture among us has not departed from the routine
established at the time of the conquest.” A cart-wheel consisted still of
boards nailed together crosswise, cut into a circular shape and bored at the
centre; a pointed stick, shod sometimes with iron, was still the plough; a
short pole with a spike driven through one end served as the hoe; the corn,
instead of going to a mill, was ground on a smooth stone with a hand roller;
and no adequate means existed of transporting such products as were raised
to such markets as could be found. Most of the “roads” made so much
trouble even for donkeys and pack-mules that it was seriously proposed to
introduce camels; and the most important road of all, the National Highway
from the capital to Jalapa and Vera Cruz, was allowed to become almost
impassable in spots. Besides poor methods, bad roads, brigands, revolutions
and a great number of holidays, there were customhouses everywhere and a
system of almost numberless formalities, the accidental neglect of which
might involve, if nothing worse, the confiscation of one’s goods. In short,
how could agriculture prosper, said a memorial on the subject, when he that
sowed was not permitted to gather, and he that gathered could reach no
market?[7]
However, more could be produced than used. The prime
COMMERCE
requisite was population. So much appeared to be clear;
and for that reason, as well as to obtain the profits of the
industries and prevent money from going abroad, great efforts were made
by independent Mexico to develop manufacturing, which had been
prohibited—though not with entire success—by Spain. The year 1830 was a
time of golden hopes in this regard. At the instance of Lucas Alamán a
grand industrial scheme went into effect, and a bank was founded to
promote it by lending public money to intending manufacturers. Cotton
fields were to whiten the plains; merino sheep and Kashmir goats to cover
the hillsides; mulberry trees to support colonies of silk-worms; imported
bees to produce the tons of wax needed for candles; and ubiquitous
factories to work up the raw materials. A few men honestly tried to establish
plants, but the industry chiefly promoted by the law and the bank was that

of prying funds from the national treasury; and when this income failed, as
it did in a few years, many half-built mills came to a stop, and much half-
installed machinery began to rust. Alamán himself, partner in a cotton
factory, became bankrupt in 1841, and the bubble soon burst.[7]
The manufacturers formed, however, a strong political clique, and in their
interest a system not only of protection, but of absolutely prohibiting the
importation of numerous articles, was adopted by law. This had the effect of
making the people pay dearly for many of their purchases. The farmers,
who wished raw materials kept out, had influence too, and were always
blocking the scheme of the manufacturers to let raw materials in; and, as the
cost of producing and transporting made native goods dear, smuggled
merchandise undersold Mexican articles even after paying for the necessary
bribery and other expenses. In a word, although certain coarse and bulky
things continued to be made in the country, the endeavor to build up an
industrial population, support agriculture, and thus doubly strengthen the
nation was very superficially planned and very unsuccessfully carried out.
Nearly all the better manufactures, a large part of the food, most of the
clothing, and substantially all the luxuries came from abroad.[7]
The business of importing continued to be mainly in Spanish hands for
some years after Mexico became independent, but for reasons that will
appear in the next chapter the Spaniard had to retire about 1830. The British
then obtained the lion’s share; and as they were Protestants they could not,
even when they so desired, identify themselves with the nation, and take a
responsible share in public affairs. Commerce was not, in fact, a source of
strength. A few raw products were exported, but essentially commerce
consisted, as was natural, in merely receiving goods from foreigners and
letting the foreigners have money in return. Moreover the volume of
commerce dwindled notably, like that of all other business. As for retail
trade, when the Spaniards had to retire, it fell mainly into Mexican hands;
but it was conducted in a small way, the profits were narrow, and the
failures were many.[7]
Even more significant for us, however, than such details
LIFE IN THE
COUNTRY were the life and character of the people, and it may be
helpful to call back the year 1845 and visit Mexico for a
couple of days. First we will stroll along a country road in a fairly typical
region. The general aspect is one of semi-wildness, but soon the tops of

well-bleached ruins amid the soft green indicate decrepitude instead,
suggesting as the national character decay preceding maturity. A long mule
team approaches in a waving line, and on a finely equipped horse at the
head of it we observe a swarthy man in green broadcloth trousers open on
the outside from the knee down, with bright silver buttons in a double row
from hip to ankle, and loose linen drawers visible where the trousers open.
A closely fitting jacket, adorned with many such buttons and much braid, is
turned back at the chin enough to reveal an embroidered shirt; and the
costume reaches a climax in a huge sombrero with a wide, rounding brim
and high sugar-loaf crown, adorned with tassels and a wide band of silver
braid. This gentleman, the arriero, is the railroad king of Mexico, for he and
others of his class transport the freight and express. Trust him with anything
you please, and it will surely be delivered; but should he be unlucky at
cards and out of work, he might rob you the next day.[8]
A group of Indians meet us, little more human in appearance than the
donkeys they drive; and we observe how easily they carry loads on their
backs, and how quickly and lightly they march. Yonder we see their huts—
pigpens, Americans would suppose; and a little apart from these we notice a
stone or adobe house. Certainly there is nothing grand about this dwelling,
for it contains only a single room, and that half full of implements, horse
furniture, charcoal, provisions and what not; but it affords a home for six or
eight persons of the two sexes. Presently the master, though not the owner,
of the establishment rides up, prodding his active but light and stubby horse
with blunt steel spurs almost as large as the palm of one’s hand, to make a
dash for our benefit. Swinging his wife from the saddle-bow the ranchero
alights, and we find him to be a short, wiry, muscular person, with a
bronzed and rather saturnine countenance but friendly and respectful
manners. He wears tough leggings, leather trousers, a small rectangular
shawl (serape) that falls over his back and breast, allowing his head to
protrude through a hole in the middle, and a wide sombrero, while at the
saddle-bow hang the inevitable lasso and a bag of corn and jerked beef, one
meal a day from which is all he requires. Apparently he does not feel quite
at home on the ground, and that is natural, for he spends about half of his
waking hours in the saddle. Herdsman, farmer or brigand, according to
circumstances, he is also cavalryman at need; and a corps of such fellows, if
properly trained and led, would make the best light horse in the world,
perhaps. His chief interests in life, however, are gambling and cock-

fighting, and he is quite capable of losing all his worldly goods, his wife
and even his pony at the national game of monte, and then of lighting a
cigarette and sauntering off without a sign of regret.[8]
Now we approach what may be called a village, but one extremely different
from a village in the United States. The great things are a handsome grove
and in the midst of it one old church of gray stone, full of saints and relics
and ancient plate, with a ragged, stupid Indian crouching on the floor. Near
by are two or three ranchero cottages with a group of Indian huts in the
distance, and yonder stands a large, rambling edifice of stone with a mighty
door and heavily barred windows. From the ends of the building run high
walls inclosing several acres, and within the protected space may be seen a
number of substantial dwellings and what appear to be storehouses and
stables, while far away over hill and plain spreads the hacienda, an estate as
large as a county. Finally, on a gentle slope not far distant we observe a
monastery with a rich garden behind it, and a fat, contented prior riding
sleepily up to its arched gateway through a dozen or two of kneeling
aborigines.[8]
Toward evening we reach the state capital, and as we cross a bridge on the
outskirts, we see a crowd of people bathing. Both sexes are splashing and
swimming, all as happy as ducks and all entirely nude. Even the presence of
strangers does not embarrass the young women, some of whom are
decidedly good-looking; and they even try to draw our attention by extra
displays of skill. Looking for an inn we discover two lines of low, rickety
buildings alternating with heaps of rubbish, fodder and harness. After some
efforts a waiter is found and we obtain a room, with a mule already
slumbering in one corner of it and all sorts of household litter thrown about.
A wretched cot with a rope bottom, a dirty table and an abundance of saints
portrayed in Mexican dress help to make the place homelike. The waiter is
amiable, and ejects the mule with a great show of indignation; but when we
ask for water and a towel his good nature fails. “Oh, what a man,” he cries,
flinging up his hands; “What a lunatic, Ave María Purísima; Ha! Ha! Ha!
He wants water, he wants a towel; what the devil—! Good-by.” The dining-
room is a hot, steamy cell, fitted up with charcoal furnaces; and for viands
we are offered plenty of hard beef, chile (pepper) and tortillas (flapjacks of
a sort), besides a number of dishes that only a native could either describe

or eat. Chile and tortillas appear, however, to be the essentials; and the
latter, partly rolled up, serve also as spoons.[8]
After dinner we look about the town. All is monotonous and sombre. The
houses, mostly of one story, form a continuous wall along the street—or
along the sidewalk, if there be one—and their projecting, heavily barred
windows, in front of which the young fellows have to do their courting,
suggest prisons more than homes. Now we come to the massive, crumbling,
gloomy church, and wonder where the priest keeps the family which
everybody knows he has. Here is the government house, and we stop to
picture the wily politicians, who—with noble exceptions—obtain the
offices of local grandeur, and the little horde of clerks, many of them
rendered prematurely decrepit by their vices, that fawn but cannot be made
to work at the nod of authority. In vain we look for a book-store, though
somewhere that name doubtless appears on a sign; but we do find the office
of the comandante general, an officer who represents the central power, has
charge of the military, and often is mining and counter-mining in a sharp
struggle with the governor. How intolerably dull it must be to live here!
Business of a large sort there is none. The little newspapers are scarcely
more than echoes from partisan sheets at Mexico. Religion is a subject that
one must let alone, and education a subject that it is useless to discuss. Of
science, history, art, nothing is known. The small men in power brook no
criticism except from enemies. Affairs in other states, even a famine or a
flood, excite little interest. Not much is left except petty intriguing and the
gratification of coarse appetites. A revolution is about the only possible
escape from this more deadly ennui.[8]
Our second day shall be given to the metropolis. The
LIFE AT MEXICO
suburbs of Mexico are mostly ragged and unclean, but
some broad avenues lined with fine trees run through
them, and entering the city by one of these we make our way to the great
central plaza. On the eastern side of this extends the palace, a very long
two-storied building of little distinction, and on the northern side towers the
huge cathedral, quite in the grand, heavy, Spanish style, seamed with
earthquake scars and pockmarked by revolutionary bullets. It is a Sunday
morning and still rather early, but the plaza is alive. The usual nightly crop
of dead and wounded is being carried to the morgue or the hospital. Sick
men, cripples and stalwart beggars are beginning to pose for alms. Prisoners

in chains are pretending to put the streets in order; but their guards, with
that mixture of good nature and indolence that characterizes the Mexican
unless his passions are excited, let them do about as they please, and they
take their cue for street-cleaning from the Book of Revelation: They that be
filthy, let them be filthy still.[8]
Indians in various tribal costumes, mostly picturesque and all dirty, patter
through the square with loads of provisions or babies. As no stoves or
fireplaces exist, the charcoal man’s loud “Carbosiú!” (Carbón, señor!)
resounds through the streets. So does the plaintive cry of the water-carrier,
bending under his great earthen jar, for the houses are all supplied from a
few public fountains, the termini of aqueducts. “Orchata, lemon, pineapple,
tamarind!” calls out a shrill voice; “What will you take, my darling? This
way for refreshment:” and we see a good-looking girl in a short skirt
expanded wide with hoops, her arms bare and her bodice cut low enough
for a ball, selling “temperance” drinks. Here is a dingy cell stuffed with
chin-basins, razors, dental implements, boxes of pomade, a guitar, a
fighting-cock tethered in a corner, and sundry pictures of saints, parrots and
battles; and there a cigar shop with a slender, black-eyed girl behind the
counter, bold enough and handsome enough, even without the red rose in
her hair, to tempt St. Anthony. Observe the evangelista, or public letter-
writer, with two quills and an inkstand ready on his little desk under a
canopy of straw matting; and observe, too, that lépero with his back against
a donkey’s pannier, robbing the pannier while he pretends to be buying a
knife.[8]
Priests in long shovel hats; lousy soldiers in ragged, ill-fitting uniforms;
gaudy officers chatting and smoking; jugglers with snakes and balls; cynical
dandies retailing love affairs; half-naked léperos in the corners sleeping off
their pulque; lottery venders with long strings of tickets; sellers of flowers,
toys, candy, glass, wax-work, mock jewellery, cheap cutlery, and a thousand
other things; closed carriages taking ladies to church; more beggars and still
more—these and many other sights keep us too busy for reflection; but we
cannot help noticing that seven out of ten persons are social drones or
parasites, and that vice of one sort or another dims the face and weakens the
step of almost every one. Suddenly a light bell tinkles, and the crowd is
instantly grave and still. “God is coming,” they whisper, or in other words
the viatic is going to a sick man. A coach drawn by two mules and followed

by a dozen slovenly friars holding lighted candles and chanting, comes
slowly down a street. All uncover and kneel, and we must do likewise or
very likely get a pummelling.[8]
This reminds us of duty; and, electing the cathedral in preference to sixty
other churches, we enter. Before us is a great throng, chiefly women and
léperos, of most devout worshippers. The finest ladies in the city are here,
dressed all in black, with no ornaments except a silk mantilla, edged with
lace, and a high tortoise-shell comb; and they kneel humbly beside the
drudge or the beggar. The church itself—designed in the Spanish style,
which places the choir in the middle of the nave and a balustraded walk
between that and the great altar—with a cloud of incense filling the air and
many hundreds of candles gleaming murkily from the shrines, is most
mysterious and impressive. The gorgeousness of the sacred ornaments
amazes us. Literally tons of silver are in sight; gold, precious stones and
gems abound; and magnificent vestments try to hide the vulgar priests. But
the splendor is oppressive, and the stench of the léperos intolerable; let us
return to the light of day.[8]
All the streets are laid out at right angles, and most of the houses that line
them are in two stories, of which the lower one is reserved for horses,
carriages, servants, cows and storage; and the walls, built of rough stone,
are very thick. The outside is usually frescoed in white, orange, blue, red or
pale green, and often adorned with pious verses or biblical texts. Entering
the big double gateway, we find ourselves in a courtyard, upon which doors
and grated windows open; and we observe that a covered balcony of
wrought iron or possibly bronze, reached by a central stairway and giving
access to the rooms of the second story, is built round it. In many courtyards
there are flowers and a fountain, and sometimes there are trees.
Occasionally we find what looks like a grandee’s residence, for Mexico was
called in the Spanish time a city of palaces, and some of these residences,
built of superior stone, equipped with gilded balconies and stairs, adorned
with artistic sculptures, and perhaps decorated with Dutch tiles in blue and
white, have survived in a fair condition the ruin of fortunes and the
disappearance of titles; but at their best they were always imperfect,
reminding one of the golden image with clay feet, and now most of them
are dilapidated.[8]

Here is a gambling place, well filled; but it is only the usual monte, and if
we care to watch a game, there will be something like a thousand more
opportunities. Already, people are making for the bull-fight; but the upper
classes mostly ignore that sport, and we may well follow their example. On
the other hand let us drop in at the cock-pit. “Hail, immaculate Mary, the
cocks are coming!” the herald is proclaiming. On the benches one may see
the most delicate and fashionable young ladies of the city as well as the
sharpest gamblers, and everything is quiet and orderly. But a glance is
enough; and now as the “quality” will soon have dined, we will stroll on
past the stately trees of the Alameda to the New Promenade, and be ready
for them.[8]
Here, every afternoon at about five o’clock, and especially on Sunday, may
be seen the Mexican élite. About a thousand carriages are in line to-day,
many of them heavy, grand affairs from Europe, but some very antiquated
and shabby, for the lady, however poor, must have a carriage of some sort.
Here one sees the fair sex at their best. Clad in the most sumptuous and
brilliant costumes they can possibly obtain and well covered with diamonds
—for everybody above the rank of a lépero has diamonds—they sit up
straight and handsome, and many of them look almost regal. More horses
than mules are to be seen, and many of them have been imported. Guided
by postilions instead of drivers, the carriages roll sedately along with an
exchange of mutual salutes but not a word of conversation, and after a turn
or two draw up and stop side by side, so that the ladies may review some
four or five thousand cavaliers, who now ride past.[8]
Each gallant, without appearing to notice the carriage of his choice, pays
court to an adored occupant of it by a special show of grace and
horsemanship as he goes by. Small fortunes in silver and gold are lavished
on the equipment of the steed, and the cavalier is resplendent in his tightly
fitting trousers, short jacket, huge sombrero, gilded spurs, silver buttons,
silk braid and gold lace. For us the impression is impaired considerably by
his manner of riding, for he leans forward, puts barely his toes into the
stirrup, and carries his heels far back; but he can ride very showily after all,
curvetting and prancing, and the Mexicans are fully satisfied that no other
horsemen in the world are their equals.[8]
The promenade over, all go to the play—not that anybody of fashion cares
for it, but because that is the style, and few have any other way to pass the

time. Let us have a look ourselves at the principal theatre, which travellers
have pronounced—after one at Naples—the finest edifice of the kind. It
accommodates more than eight thousand persons, and the rent of the best
boxes is about $3000 a year. But almost every man and many of the women
appear to be smoking; one can hardly see the actors; the noise of
conversation is distracting; and as we are not adepts in the play of glances
and fans which keep so many ladies in the boxes and so many gallants in
the pit fully occupied, we shall find it pleasanter at the British legation ball.
Allons! Why, what a clangor the church bells are making! To be sure that
opens the gates of purgatory for a while and gives the inmates a respite, but
it certainly bears rather hard on the living.[8]
While by nature the most sociable of people, the Mexicans are the least so
in practice, wrote an American minister at that capital. This is partly
because many of social rank now lack the means to entertain, and partly
because society is cut up by intrigues, jealousies and bitter memories; but at
a foreign legation one has no expenses, and all meet on neutral ground. As
we enter, everything seems fine and even brilliant. Diamonds are in
profusion again, and the lustre of the great pearls matches them. But in
Mexico it is never wise to look closely, for gross imperfections are sure to
be discovered; and here, as we soon observe, the gowns are not really in
style, and the musicians are only unshaven, half-blind, tatterdemalion
scrapers.[8]
However, the people are what we care for, and they are certainly most
interesting. Again we see the dignified ladies; they move now, and with a
decided though rather ponderous grace. Conversation is not their forte, for
they seldom read and never think; but all have beautiful eyes, teeth and
hair; all have small hands and feet; and all are amiable, sincerely kind and
by no means wanting in tact. The older ones appear stout and rather
phlegmatic, it is true, but those of an earlier age are often fascinating. Look
for instance at the girl under the chandelier, plainly all sentiment and
senses, not really tall but slender enough to appear so, with a profile of
carved ivory, pale cheeks just warmed with crimson, large, dark, languorous
eyes, and a voluptuous figure disguised with no stays; and all this poised
seemingly on the toe of a dainty satin slipper. What matters it if she and the
rest of the ladies passed their day in gazing idly out of windows, smoking,

nibbling sweetmeats and chattering trifles, and did not put on their
stockings or do up their hair until dinner-time?[8]
But for us the men are more important. That short individual in spectacles,
who looks erudite and speaks in a low tone with a gravity and reserve that
emphasize his remarks, is Alamán, the most distinguished of the
conservatives. The thin-featured, sharp-nosed person, so elegant and
cynical, is Tornel, posing now in his favorite attitude as the patron of
learning. Smooth-faced Bocanegra, an honorable if not very able statesman,
is talking yonder to the British minister with the easy courtliness of a
genuine hidalgo. Handsome and brave Almonte—“a good boy,” as Santa
Anna calls him—is laying siege to the belle under the chandelier; and Peña
y Peña, seemingly rather dry and uninspired, is debating somewhat
laboriously with a brother judge.[8]
Let us join a group. How strong, genial, easy, ready and gay, yet dignified
and reposeful, they all are! Few indeed of our own countrymen could be so
charming. Some one approaches, and they grasp him warmly by the hand,
throwing the left arm at the same time round his shoulder and softly patting
his back. “Friend,” “Comrade,” are frequent salutations. We are presented
to the group, and find ourselves at once among devoted intimates. “My
house is yours,” exclaims one with a look that carries conviction.
“Remember, I exist only to serve you,” says another. “Only command me
and all that are mine,” exclaims a third.[8]
Mexico, however, reported a British minister, “judged merely by outward
Appearances, is a perfectly different thing from Mexico seen in the
Interior.” One might be presented with a dozen houses and all their
contents, yet go to bed on the sidewalk hungry. These friends and comrades
are daily intriguing and conspiring against one another. Talk with an
eloquent declaimer, and you will find his beautiful ideas vague and
impracticable. Discuss them with him, and you will either excite wrath by
demolishing his opinions or earn contempt—since he suspects in his heart
that he is an ignoramus—by letting him vanquish you. Notice how lightly
they speak of religion. That is considered good form. The Church is to be
regarded as an institution for the women. But at bottom almost every one is
mortally afraid of the hereafter, as a child is afraid of the dark, and when
seriously ill is ready to grovel before a priest. The apparent robustness of
these men, largely due to their indolence, is too often undermined by

Cyprian accidents, which are confessed without hesitation. Hardly one of
the husbands is loyal to his vows, while the other sex care only to elude
numberless watchful eyes, and observe a strict regard for appearances; and
in the lower walks a mother will quite readily sell her daughter’s good
name. However, courtesy is delightful whatever lies behind it, and if a
person will try to eat a picture of grapes, he should blame himself for his
disappointment. Temperament, environment and education make sangfroid
and intellectual mastery impossible here; and in a world where passionate
men and women grow up in traditions of idleness and self-indulgence they
can hardly be expected, especially with the bad example of their priests
before them, to be distinguished for self-restraint.[8]
Meanwhile, are the common people at home knitting? Let us walk back to
the cathedral. The full moon is out. Almost above us rise the powerful
towers against the clear firmament, and on our left is the palace, filling one
whole side of the square with its numberless balconies and windows, while
in front spreads the great plaza, glittering with innumerable lights against
the shadowy arcades that fill the opposite side. The sky is a soft, pale blue;
and the stars, fading near the brilliant moon, appear like dust raised by her
chariot wheels. Under the trees on our right a huge serpent, the scales of
which are human beings, turns, winds, bends, parts and rejoins in a circular
promenade.[8]
Some occupy themselves with prosaic thoughts,—business, politics or
social events—and a few talk of science and poetry. Yonder goes a
millionaire, a real king of gold, at sight of whom all hats come off, while all
eyes court his glance; but another, who passes with a triumphant step and
bold gestures, appears to the crowd a greater man, for he is the king of the
sword, the king of the bull-ring, the matador. But most, perhaps, are talking
and thinking of love and of pleasure. Furtive but meaning glances are often
exchanged; occasionally hand presses hand under the folds of the cloak; at
times a few mysterious words pass quickly; now and then one sees a pretty
woman on the arm of her bold lover, showing herself proudly to the world,
while the husband follows on behind as best he can; and here and there a
scowling, discarded friend looks out from behind a post with a knife
clutched behind him.
Would you like to see a little more? Then visit the Barrio Santa Anna, and
watch men with bloodshot eyes and women in red petticoats and loose,

open chemisettes dancing a wild fandango, or plunge into a lépero’s dive
and watch the pariahs gambling sedately with a bloody knife on the table
before them, while down in one corner a crouching woman moans and
mutters over a prostrate figure. But how lightly all is done, even the
tragedies, compared with northern depth and seriousness. In a sense we feel
we are observing children.[8]
Of course in so brief a space the subject of this chapter could not be
thoroughly treated, but our inquiry seems to make certain facts plain. Little
in the material, mental and moral spheres was really sound in the Mexico of
1845. Her population was insufficient, and was badly welded together, so
far as it had been welded at all; and while the lower orders of the people lay
deep in ignorance, laziness and vice, the upper class, if we ignore
exceptions, were soft, superficial, indolent and lax, urbane, plausible and
eloquent, apathetic but passionate, amiable and kind though cruel when
excited, generous but untrustworthy, wasteful but athirst for gain,
suspicious and subtle but not sagacious, personally inclined to be pompous
and nationally afflicted with a provincial vanity, greatly enamoured of the
formalities of life, greatly wanting in the cool, steady resolution for which
occasional obstinacy is a poor substitute, and still more wanting in that
simple, straightforward, sober and solid common sense which is the true
foundation of personal and national strength. In particular, the Mexican was
intensely personal. This made him and his politics very interesting yet was
really unfortunate, for in such men principles and institutions could have
but feeble roots. Finally, as one result of this awareness of self, every man
of any strength had the instincts of a dictator. Authority he instinctively
resented; but on the other hand, when some one appeared to be dominant, a
consciousness of this inner recalcitrancy and a fear of its being detected,
combining with a hope of favors, produced adulation and apparent
slavishness.
Evidently, then, Mexico was not intrinsically a strong country. Evidently
her people had few qualifications for self-government. Evidently, too, they
were unlikely to handle in the best manner a grave and complicated
question requiring all possible sanity of judgment and perfect self-control;
and, in particular, misunderstandings between them and a nation like the
United States were not only sure to arise but sure to prove troublesome.

II
THE POLITICAL EDUCATION OF MEXICO
1800–1845

It was of course the political side of Mexican civilization that had the most
direct bearing on our relations with that country, and this can best be
explained by approaching it historically. At the same time we shall be aided
in studying, not only some of the principal figures in the war and their
mutual attitudes, but some of its most important and mysterious events.
The colonial régime of Spain was intended and carefully planned to ensure
the safety, prosperity and contentment of her distant subjects, but for certain
reasons it worked badly. Like all nations of that period, she believed that
her colonies existed for the good of the mother-country, and aimed first of
all to control and exploit them. She had to depend upon very human agents
that were practically beyond her reach. While theoretically all Mexicans,
except the aborigines, enjoyed an equality before the law, the government
felt that emigrants from the Peninsula were especially worthy of
confidence; and at the same time not a few of these men had friends
industriously scheming for them at court. The consequences were, first, the
establishment of a powerful Gachupine oligarchy, largely dependent on the
royal will, the lowest member of which, even if penniless, felt superior to
every Creole, and, secondly, the enthronement of privilege, often gained by
ignoble means, in government, army, church and business. The Creoles—
overawed by the almost divine prestige of the king, trembling before his
power, and convinced that only his troops could protect them against the
Indians—submitted; but they hated their insolent oppressors, and the
Indians hated both groups. On the principle of “Divide and conquer” the
government fomented these dissensions; and, supported by the intolerance
of the Church, it did its utmost to bar out foreigners and foreign ideas in
order to ensure an unreasoning subordination.[1]
What Mexico owed to Spain, therefore, aside from the remembrance and
fruits of an efficiency that she could not hope to equal, was a settled

tradition of arbitrary rule based on force, of authority selfishly and often
corruptly used, of the government as possessing the sole initiative, of social
disunion resulting from privilege and monopoly, of personal successes
frequently due to intrigue or purchased favor, of political indifference
except among the controlling or aspiring cliques, of apathy concerning all
high interests, of ignorance, inertness, fanaticism, hard oppression, blind
obedience, passionate feuds and gross pleasures.[1]
Little by little new ideas reached a few of the more
THE
REVOLUTION intelligent, however. The American Declaration of
AGAINST SPAIN Independence became known, and also the fact that
Spain, by supporting England’s rebellious colonies, had
coöperated with heretics long pictured as infidels and fiends. Echoes from
Diderot’s encyclopædia and reports of the French revolution crept in; and
the natural desire both to share on equal terms in the offices and in business,
and to escape from the extra cost of living due to the monopolies,
quickened thought. When war with England led to the raising of Mexican
troops, a new sense of power began to be felt; when the Spanish monarchy
crumbled before Napoleon in 1808, the illusion of the king’s divinity and
invincibility faded; when the royal family exhorted the Mexicans to accept
the heir of the French revolution as their master, loyalty quivered to its
base; and when the people of Spain took up arms to defend their betrayed
nationality, the principle of popular sovereignty loomed up as greater than
royal prerogatives. Finally the mass of the people, though too apathetic to
realize the full meaning of these facts, were roused by a thunder-clap at
home.[2]
Struggling with the crisis precipitated by events in the Peninsula, the
viceroy—partly to gain support for himself, it is probable, and partly to gain
support for the monarchy—showed a disposition to give the Creoles a voice
in the government, upon which the leaders of the oligarchy were so
amazingly foolish as to depose him by force, and usurp his authority. This
conduct proved that much of their boasted loyalty and supposed ability had
been shams, that what they really meant was to enjoy the wealth and power,
that the cause of the Creoles was not one of subjects against their king, but
one of subjects against subjects, and that only force could settle the issue.
Dreams of independence immediately crystallized into schemes of
insurrection.[2]

Foremost among the conspirators was Hidalgo, commonly described by the
Mexicans as a Washington, but in reality a kindly, public-spirited,
mockingly irreligious and frankly immoral priest. His plans were
discovered; and so on the sixteenth of September, 1810, in the desperate
hope of saving himself and his associates, he called upon the Indians, rabid
with fanaticism and hatred of their oppressors, to rise against the Spanish,
who, he declared, had now allied themselves with infidel Frenchmen
against their holy religion. What followed was like the bursting of
reservoirs filled with blood and fire. Scarcely a trace of statesmanship was
exhibited by the leaders; most of their disciples acted like fiends let loose;
and their enemies did little better. Soon many common priests, many Creole
military men, and not a few other persons who felt sore under the heel of
wealth and power and were ambitious to rise, embraced the cause, and so
many of the rest sympathized with Hidalgo’s demand for independence, that
probably by good management he could have succeeded; but against a
campaign like his the substantial elements of society found it necessary to
combine, and when the heads of the insurrection were betrayed, captured
and shot in 1811, little of it remained except horrible memories and lessons
in conspiracy, treachery, hate, folly, wholesale destruction and wholesale
murder.[2]
In a new form, however, the cause of independence lived on. Instead of
wild hordes crying, “Death to the Gachupines!” there were now for the
most part stealthy but merciless bands of guerillas, and the government
soldiers followed close behind them in daring and ruthlessness. On the
coast near Vera Cruz an officer named Antonio López de Santa Anna won a
captaincy about this time by hunting down insurgents, and on the plateau a
handsome, dashing man with brown hair and reddish side-whiskers named
Agustín de Itúrbide, who had negotiated with Hidalgo about accepting the
lieutenant generalship of the revolutionary army, distinguished himself on
the royal side for greed and bloodthirstiness. In 1814 he wrote to the
viceroy one Good Friday, “In honor of the day, I have just ordered three
hundred excommunicated wretches to be shot,” and the women among his
prisoners fared no better than the men. On the other side Nicolás Bravo,
whose father had been taken and executed, won a noble distinction by
releasing about three hundred captives despite orders to kill them;
Guadalupe Victoria, as he named himself, earned renown by living in caves
like a wild beast rather than give up; and Vicente Guerrero, operating at the

south in unexplored mountains, exhibited great resourcefulness, remarkable
knowledge of men and extraordinary courage. The principal hero of this
period, however, was Morelos, an Indian priest, who showed himself a
consummate partisan leader.[2]
So successful were these and the many other chiefs in terrorism, robbery,
slaughter and sack, and so deep a sentiment in favor of independence now
existed, that with a little sagacity in counsel and a little concert in action the
cause might have triumphed; but ambitions, jealousies, insubordination,
disloyalty and political incompetence ruined everything, and by the end of
1819, although Guerrero still made head a little, the second phase also of
the revolution was substantially at an end, leaving behind it hot embers of
turmoil, fighting, treachery and massacre, and countless examples of
making pillage a livelihood, selfishly disregarding the common cause, and
grossly blundering in political management. Thought and feeling in Mexico
had, however, been so educated by reflection, experience, discussion and
foreign comments during the past nine or ten years, that a longer acceptance
of the old régime could not be expected. Absolutism, though triumphant,
was doomed.[2]
The fatal blow came from its champions. In 1820 a
ITÚRBIDE
revolution in Spain revived the liberal constitution that
had been adopted eight years before and then had been
abolished by Ferdinand VII; and Apodaca, now viceroy of Mexico, felt
compelled to proclaim the new law. The troops and the people began to
dread another civil war; and the oligarchy, especially the Church dignitaries,
concluding at once that only separation from the mother-country could save
their privileges, looked about for an instrument. One was easily found.
Itúrbide’s greed had finally driven him from his post, his fortune had been
wasted in self-indulgence, and he was now desperate. Long since, his active
mind had seen that if the Creole troops could be seduced, they—supported
by the revolutionary sentiment of the people—could overmatch about half
their number of Spanish regiments; and he agreed readily to become the
champion of autocracy in order to betray it. Cleverly deceiving the
government, he obtained a command through the aid of his backers, and, in
order to clear the field, attacked Guerrero. To dispose of that wary foe
proved, however, no easy task; so he negotiated privately with a public
enemy, described himself as “destitute of ambition and self-interest,” and

finally inveigled the insurgent leader into joining the conspiracy. Victoria
followed that example. Santa Anna, though recently made a lieutenant
colonel by the viceroy, came over with his men. Other leaders did the same;
and on February 24, 1821, Itúrbide felt strong enough to announce a
programme, the famous Plan of Iguala.[2]
This declared for independence, a limited monarchy under a Bourbon king,
the Roman Catholic church as the sole form of religion, the old fueros, the
right of office-holders to retain their posts, the fraternal union and political
equality of Gachupines, Creoles and Indians, and the appointment of a
committee (junta) to govern Mexico provisionally. No scheme could have
seemed more inviting, and none could have been more delusive, for it
ignored insurmountable difficulties and promised incompatible advantages.
In all probability Itúrbide knew this; but prelates, troops, officials and
people took the shining bait; O’Donojú, the new Spanish general, deciding
it would be useless to fight, made a treaty with the revolutionary chief; and
on September 27, 1821, Itúrbide carried the tricolor through the gate of the
capital, stopped his gallant black charger at the convent of San Francisco,
and received the golden keys of the city. Obedience, the sole basis of
Mexican society, had been swept away; treachery and perjury had
triumphed; and yet the unthinking multitude hurrahed.[2]
The generalísimo, violating the principle of popular sovereignty, now
appointed the junta himself, excluding all the old revolutionists; that body
in turn elected him and four associates to exercise the executive power as
regents; and a Constituent Congress was prematurely summoned to draw up
an organic law. The situation soon proved to be extremely difficult.
Resentments needed to be healed, jealousies appeased, commerce and the
industries put in motion, and the whole edifice of society and politics rebuilt
on new foundations out of incongruous elements. Peculiarly urgent was the
demand for money—the more so as some of the taxes were abolished in
order to sweeten the revolution, while the expenses grew. On entering
Mexico Itúrbide had proclaimed, “You see me in the most opulent of
capitals;” and every one expected the new government—an independent,
Mexican, popular government—to bear an open purse. In October, 1821,
some fourteen thousand claims were presented to it.[3]
Itúrbide, whatever his aims and whatever his faults, was the sole Mexican
of recognized preëminence, the sole possible rallying point; and patriotism

called upon all to support his prestige and patiently correct his errors until
society could take shape. Nothing of the sort occurred, however. The army
idolized him; the civil officials counted on him; the prelates feared him less
than they did his enemies; and the masses, ignorant of what went on below
the surface, revered him as the Father of Independence; but the cheated
absolutists, disappointed borbonistas, cajoled insurgents, distanced
comrades, eclipsed leaders and unsuccessful claimants, the patriots,
indignant that a cruel royalist should be the heir of the revolution, the
republicans, few in number but increasingly influential, the friends of those
he had massacred or plundered, and behind all the Scottish Rite
Freemasons, who were liberals yet partisans of Spain—all these hated and
dogged him. Honors and emoluments were heaped upon him to excite envy
and odium; his weaknesses were baited; his strength was provoked; his
administrative blundering was stimulated instead of corrected. When
financial necessities compelled him to decree a forced loan, paper money
and other arbitrary measures, many began to denounce him as a tyrant.
Plausibly enough he was accused of disloyalty to his pledges and of aiming
to be king. Finally his enemies, making the most of certain indiscretions
that he committed, undertook to remove him from the command of the
army. Whatever had been his purpose, he now found it necessary to strike;
and a mutiny of the troops—endorsed later by the Congress under military
and mob pressure—declared him emperor.[3]
Expenses then increased still more. Jealousies and enmities were
embittered. Public sentiment veered sharply. Time, strength and funds were
swallowed up in pomps that created no more illusion than a college student
in a toga. Encompassed with flatterers, foes and traitors, financially and
politically incompetent himself and guided by incompetent advisers, well
enough aware that after deceiving everybody he could expect no one to be
true, Itúrbide lost his head, sometimes wavered and sometimes tyrannized.
Finally he thought it necessary to deprive Santa Anna of an authority that
had no doubt been abused; and this interesting young man, who had
recently proclaimed that he welcomed Itúrbide’s elevation with a positively
uncontrollable exuberance of joy, “pronounced” for a republic, knowing
scarcely anything about that system, but knowing a great deal about the
Emperor’s unpopularity. This precipitated a revolution; and the movement,
soon taken up by Victoria, Guerrero and Bravo, spread rapidly. Itúrbide’s
most intimate and trusted general was despatched against the insurgents, but

betrayed him. The army went over. The people, who revered the Liberator
but not the Emperor, concurred. With bad faith and gratuitous outrages his
enemies crowded savagely upon him. Early in 1823 he abdicated; and in
May, forsaken by every one of the many he had benefited, the discredited
hero sailed for Europe, leaving behind him examples and suggestions of the
most demoralizing kind.[3]
The junta, meanwhile, had disgusted the nation with its frivolities, political
and fiscal incompetence and usurpation of powers, and there was a feeling
of relief when it dissolved in February, 1822, the next day after Congress
met. Congress, however, did no better and fared even worse, for it earned
much contempt by sanctioning under pressure the elevation of Itúrbide; and
then Itúrbide made Congress, and made all popular government, quite
ridiculous in the eyes of the people and the army by forcibly sending the
members home. When at his wit’s end, he recalled it as if inviting the coup
de grace, and soon it not only earned more contempt by pronouncing his
elevation illegal and punishing every mark of condolence for the fallen
chief, but undertook to outrank omnipotence by pretending that no empire
had existed. Soon, too, all the selfish ambitions that had combined against
Itúrbide in this body showed themselves so clearly as to add further
discredit; and worse yet the Congress, though chosen merely to frame a
constitution under the Plan of Iguala, held on after the refusal of Spain to
coöperate had put an end to that scheme.[3]
The republicans, who were gaining ground because evidently no other
Mexican could stand where Itúrbide had fallen, and the Iturbidistas, who
desired to create anarchy in order to force the recall of their hero, clamored
for new elections. Five provinces demanded them formally; and at length,
despised by every one, Congress, the firstfruit of popular government, fell
to the ground. Almost every institution that should have enjoyed respect
was now discredited—even the Church, for it had crowned the emperor and
shed its benedictions liberally on Congress. The army, however, stood, for it
had shown its power both to elevate and to overthrow.[3]
The next Congress, which met November 7, 1823, had a more democratic
basis; but the members were personally inferior, intrigue and self-seeking
again prevailed, and the young orators—convinced that winning applause
from the galleries was the true object of speaking—launched forth on all
occasions with that fatal fluency which their intoxicating idiom encouraged.

After centuries of enforced silence, men to whom liberty could only mean
license were called upon to decide the gravest questions of statesmanship.
Naturally they were eager to build before laying foundations; and naturally,
too, where nine tenths of the people could not read, it seemed like genuine
statesmanship to flourish the novel vocabulary of independence.[3]
Frivolous, fickle, now torpid and now running amuck, Congress found itself
compelled eventually to frame a constitution. Under Spanish rule the
provinces, each governed by an intendant, had known little and cared less
about one another; and now, stimulated by the centrifugal tendency of the
Iberian character and the dread of a tyrant, inflamed by transcendental
doctrines of liberty, disgusted with the proceedings of the national
authorities, and captivated by the thought of offices for all, they began to
claim sovereignty; and something had to be done at once. A republic,
though alien to all the habits and feelings of the nation, seemed evidently
necessary, because no possible monarch existed, and because no other
system could make it the interest of a sufficient number of persons to
maintain the government; but this did not end the difficulties. The
centralized type of republic was ardently desired by the oligarchy as likely
to prove controllable, and by all the monarchists as a sloping path toward
their goal; but the friends of Itúrbide and the enemies of privilege—
strongest at a distance from the capital—fought against it, and at length, as
the federal system, about which only the vaguest notions were entertained,
promised more offices and seemed more likely to hold the country together,
it was decided upon.[3]
To meet the crisis one individual, taking the constitution of the United
States as a basis,[4] drafted the required instrument in three days; and so an
untrained and uneducated nation found itself provided with a complicated
mixture of democracy and privilege, liberty and intolerance, progress and
reaction, which paralyzed itself by combining such antagonistic elements,
omitted the safeguard of a supreme court like ours, and showed its own
inadequacy by providing that in emergencies the President might be given
“extraordinary powers,” or in other words become a dictator. In short, the
government was organized as a permanent revolution. There was much
enthusiasm, however, over this triumph of nationality, and on New Year’s
day, 1825, the first constitutional Congress assembled. The treasury was
now full of borrowed English gold; and—as every one hoped the new

system might be developed in the direction he preferred—all agreed that an
era of peace, joy and prosperity had at length arrived.[3]
Victoria was elected President. His frank, ruddy, bronzed
VICTORIA’S
ADMINISTRATIO face, peering out of gray whiskers and curly gray hair,
N looked happy and encouraging, but soon the mass of the
nation felt once more cheated; for although Bravo had
been the candidate of the oligarchy, Victoria—yielding to the pressure of
that element—gave it a preponderance in the administration. A multitude of
people were exasperated to find the old privileged classes again in control,
and the execution of Itúrbide under an illegal law—for he had returned to
Mexico—infuriated his partisans. Worse yet, the oligarchy denied the
practicability of the federal system for so unwieldy a country, where the
states felt so independent, where so many men aspired to hold office and
where so few were qualified, and plotted to set up the centralized regime,
with monarchy—preferably under a Spanish prince—as the ultimate aim of
many; and Victoria, a polite, weak, indolent, easily-flattered man of small
abilities, little education and immense vanity, who idolized his country but
felt she would always need him as chief-priest, fell in with this plan,
because without a change of the constitution he could not be President a
second time.[5]
Disgusted and alarmed, the Federalists, who included the Iturbidistas, began
therefore to scheme gropingly for a new revolution, a new war of
independence; but at length, realizing that under the constitution a majority
could rule, they established Masonic lodges of the York Rite, and with great
skill, activity and perseverance organized their forces. Before long their
power showed itself at the voting-urns, and the President, recognizing the
logic of events and perceiving he could never supplant Bravo in the favor of
the aristocracy, changed the complexion of the government. This in turn
angered the faction displaced, and most unwisely—being physically much
the weaker side—it massed its power in December, 1827, and revolted
under a certain Montaño. Bravo, though Vice-President, placed himself at
the head of the insurgents; but the government forces under Guerrero,
attacking him during a truce, quickly ended the revolt.[5]
Peace, however, did not return. The newspapers unearthed or invented so
many unsavory tales about the leading citizens that, besides proving those
men unworthy of confidence, they excited lasting resentments. The

Federalists—particularly the Iturbidistas—harshly avenged their past
sufferings, for the Mexican idea of justice meant a chance to persecute the
oppressor; and every thinking mind saw with dismay that whereas previous
insurrections had occurred in a natural revolutionary period, the
government legally established by the nation had now been defied by a
great party led by the Vice-President himself. This was the letting out of
waters, and to palliate it as chargeable to circumstances would be to excuse
all political crimes.[5]
Meanwhile another storm had been gathering. The Spanish element, which
not only was superior but felt so, had given much offence; and, quite aside
from grudges, many thought it unsafe to have so large a number of
Gachupines in the country—many of them active and able, not a few of
them soldiers, and some occupying high civil and military positions—at a
time when Spain was preparing to reassert her authority over Mexico.
Others argued that should the Spaniards go, their places in business and the
public service would be available for Mexicans. Still others considered this
a good way to enfeeble the oligarchy, so as to curtail its privileges. Many
demagogues perceived that here lay a splendid opportunity to acquire a
following; and the Spaniards, for their part, long accustomed to despise and
lord it over the Mexicans, often exasperated the public by offensive and
imprudent conduct. The natural consequences followed. Many
insurrections, benevolently treated by the government, demanded the
expulsion of the Gachupines; some of the states passed laws in that sense;
and finally, in 1827 and 1828, Congress did the same. A very large number
of Gachupines actually departed and carried away their money. This drew
out the strongest fibres of public life, the army, finance, trade and the
industries; while the injustice and impolicy of these decrees and the bloody
vengeance taken upon a few silly Spanish conspirators embittered feeling in
Mexico, and greatly injured Mexican credit in Europe, where few except
the Spanish merchants enjoyed any financial standing.[5]
By the time Victoria’s administration drew near its end, Mexico had marked
out her downward route. The parties faced each other as implacable foes.
Each perpetrated as much electoral fraud and violence as it could; each kept
up a savage press; and each worked in the dark through secret societies.
Owing to extravagance, peculation, bad management, the backwardness of
the states in paying their quotas, and the failure of an English banking

house, the treasury was empty in spite of lavish borrowing. “Liberty” had
become a by-word, for Victoria had wielded the extraordinary powers for a
year and a half, punishments had gone beyond the laws, and the
government had been given authority, not only to expel foreigners at will,
but even to banish citizens from their states. Corruption was general and
profound, commerce feeble, credit extinct, justice perverted, reported the
French agent; and, as his British colleague added, the “Name of Patriotism”
was used as a “Cloak to cover the greatest Excesses.”[5]
And now came something worse. Well aware they could not elect one of
their own number President against the popular candidate, Guerrero, the
Centralists looked about for an acceptable Federalist. Gómez Pedraza,
Victoria’s minister of war, though narrow, harsh and passionate, was a strict
and honest man, a laborious official and a thoughtful, effective orator. He
had fought on the Spanish side in the revolution, and naturally favored a
conservative, aristocratic régime. He, therefore, was secretly adopted in
place of Bravo, now in exile. All those who detested unseemly party strife
preferred him, and as the moderate wing of the Federalists also took that
side, quite unaware that Centralism lurked in the shadow, Guerrero’s noisy
and overconfident supporters found themselves beaten. This result and the
open exultation, threats and hostilities of their old enemies, who still
controlled the senate and the supreme court, enraged them, for they
perceived they had been duped once more, and they hotly charged—no
doubt with some reason—that money and Pedraza’s power as head of the
war department had frustrated the will of the people; while it disgusted
Victoria to be superseded by a man he had looked down upon as merely a
useful clerk.[6]
Another individual also took offence. After setting the
SANTA ANNA
ball in motion against Itúrbide, Santa Anna had been
eclipsed by larger figures, and to shine again he took up
arms as Protector of the People; but this enterprise collapsed at once, and he
issued a very humble proclamation, closing with the words, “Permit me,
permit me to dig myself an obscure grave that my ashes and my memory
may disappear.” A fairly comfortable grave was, however, dug for him by
removing His Penitence to Yucatan as military commandant, and he
proceeded at once to gild its interior by permitting illicit commerce with
Cuba. Returning after a while to the proper field of ambition, he was more

than suspected of complicity in two insurrections; but in each case he read
the omens in season to extricate himself, and virtuously offered his sword to
the government. Now, however, he took a bold stand. Not only were he and
the successful candidate personal enemies, but he felt that little would be
left of himself after four years of Pedraza’s rule; and he knew that Guerrero,
in addition to being favored by the army, really had a majority of the people
on his side. Accordingly he unfurled his flag in September, 1828, for
Guerrero, popular rights and a total expulsion of the Gachupines. In this
contest he showed amazing quickness, audacity and resourcefulness,
keeping up his motley troops principally by brigandage; but very soon his
cause appeared to be doomed.[6]
At this point Lorenzo de Zavala, one of those human meteors that rarely
illuminate Anglo-Saxon skies, came forward. His political relations were
extremely intense; and now, believing the Centralists intended to place him
before a firing-squad, he organized at Mexico, in the hope of saving himself
and Santa Anna, the woeful insurrection of the Acordada, which fixed the
example of party revolution. Victoria had an understanding with him,
though after betraying the government and letting the handful of rioters get
a safe start, he lost his nerve and betrayed them also; and in the end, at the
cost of some bloodshed and extensive robberies, the insurrection triumphed;
“the vile and unnatural Pedraza”—as his foes called him—fled to the
United States, and Congress, after having declared Pedraza elected,
pronounced Guerrero President on the express ground that revolts had
occurred in his favor. In reality this was a revolution of numbers and
popular ideas against privilege and oligarchy, and before long the country
accepted the situation.[6]
Santa Anna was now a popular hero, the saviour of the
A NEW
REVOLUTION nation; and he proceeded to confirm his title. In 1829
came the long expected blow from Spain, and having
calmly assumed the military authority at Vera Cruz, he advanced to meet it.
Near Tampico the invading army, stricken with fever, desired to lay down
its arms; but Santa Anna, eager for laurels, attacked it. Spanish valor
accepted the challenge; the Mexicans were repulsed; and their ambitious
leader left the field before the battle ended. The invaders were then
permitted to surrender, and soon a new cry was echoing through the streets
of Mexico, “Viva Santa Anna, the Victor of Tampico!” Clothing himself

with modesty and grace he now posed as a sort of benevolent divinity.
Rather tall, thin, apparently feeble but capable of great exertions on
occasion, with a head that bulged at the top, a swarthy complexion, brilliant
and restless eyes, a very clear-cut voice and a voluble tongue, he moved
about his estate at Manga de Clavo and the near-by city of Vera Cruz in an
easy, affable way, accumulating popularity. “Can read somewhat,” reported
our consul in that city; but his thoughts were above literature. “Were I made
God,” it was said that he once remarked, “I should wish to be something
more.”[6]
Meantime, April 1, 1829, Guerrero assumed the Presidency. In his green
jacket edged with fur, red waistcoat bound with a blue sash, brown mantle
and heavy sabre, with his thick hair bristling toward all points of the
compass, he was a picturesque figure, and as candidate had answered very
well. For the role of chief magistrate, however, the British minister justly
described him as “totally unfit.” Being mostly of Indian and partly—it was
stated—of negro blood, he instinctively distrusted the whites, while the
latter utterly despised the class to which he belonged. Though his intuitive
judgment was quick and within the range of his experience remarkably
correct, he knew nothing whatever of letters and politics, necessarily
depended upon the self-seeking flatterers of his party, and veered about like
the wind. In military emergencies he could burst his bonds like a Samson,
but the things he really cared for were a wench, a bottle, a game of monte
and a nap under some spreading tree. Without ideas, knowledge, experience
or high character, he faced a terrible inheritance: the laws ignored, the
authorities despised, the administration disorganized, the treasury worse
than empty, the country in distress and turmoil.[6]
Professions of loyalty to the “sacred” constitution and the laws could not
blot out the fact that his authority was based upon a riot; and others would
not feel satisfied merely because he was content. The extraordinary powers
of the Executive, granted in view of the Spanish invasion, were used
oppressively. A multitude of persons clamored for money and he could give
them none; a multitude clamored for reforms, and he scarcely knew what
they were talking about. As far as possible the rest of the Gachupines were
driven out, but this merely added to the confusion. President and nation
simply drifted, and the rocks were near. Before long the general government
was practically ignored except at the capital, and the heads of the secret

societies wielded the real power. Guerrero even allowed the oligarchy, his
deadliest foe, to alienate him from the common people, the source of his
strength. He became almost as isolated as Mahomet’s coffin; and then—as
soon as ambition could disguise itself with a programme—he fell.[6]
Mainly owing to the good-will of Guerrero, the Vice-President was General
Anastasio Bustamante, a heavy, dull, rather kindly and fairly honest
aristocrat, though nominally a moderate Federalist. When appointed by
Guerrero to command the army of reserve at Jalapa, the principal military
force in the country, he exclaimed on taking leave of the President, “Never
will I unsheathe my sword against General Guerrero,” but within a year
(December, 1829) he did it; and, though a beneficiary of the Acordada riot,
he revolted against the government in the name of the constitution. As a
matter of fact his rebellion was merely another effort of the privileged
classes, a revised edition of Montaño’s, and the army received its pay from
the money chests of the oligarchs. Little opposition was encountered, for
Guerrero had let Delilah shear him, the Acordada episode and much other
misconduct had completely discredited the radical Federalists, and the
Federalists in general—who had raised Bustamante from a political prison
to the second place in the nation—could not believe, after his fresh
protestations of loyalty to the constitution, that he would betray them. The
President, finding nobody to lean upon, fled to his old haunts in the south,
was treacherously captured and was shot; and meanwhile, on the first of
January, 1830, Bustamante took up the reins. Greed, corruption,
imprudence, evil passions and lawlessness had ruined the cause of
democracy, and Victoria’s experiment of letting aristocrats administer a
professedly popular system had to be tried again.[6]
Bustamante opened Congress with a bit of the fashionable hypocrisy,
asserting that a “sacred Constitution” had placed him in power; but he
showed that what interested him was “the wishes of the army,” and the
army reciprocated this affection. Alamán, who had been Victoria’s chief
adviser at first, now became the real head of the government. More than any
other man in Mexico he could claim to be called a statesman, for he knew
some history, had observed politics in Europe, and in a superficial yet
impressive way could reason; but he was a statesman of the Metternich
school, wily and insincere, wholly unable to sympathize with democracy,
and profoundly in love with force. Whatever did not suit the government he

demolished without regard to law; whoever opposed it was crushed. In
administration the government did well, but—attempting to represent
democracy and privilege, progress and reaction, the past and the future, a
self-governing state and an all-controlling church at one and the same time
—it undertook to perform an impossible task by impossible means.
Consequently it satisfied neither of the parties and offended both. King
Stork proved worse than King Log.[7]
Santa Anna, incensed because Guerrero would not appoint him minister of
war, had at first coquetted with Bustamante’s movement; but soon,
overshadowed at Jalapa by the Vice-President and by Bravo, whom
Guerrero had pardoned, he retired to his estate. On the outbreak of the
revolution he took up arms for Guerrero; but when his chief gave up, he
followed that example, and patiently awaited, crouching, the time to spring.
Now he saw the tide of passion rising, and saw also the best citizens
agreeing that Mier y Terán,[F] an able and honorable man, should be the
next chief magistrate. Accordingly, to prevent an election if nothing more,
he “pronounced” in the name of Federalism at the beginning of 1832, and
called for a change of Cabinet, though four years earlier he had battled for
the principle that nobody should interfere with a President’s choice of
ministers; and then he required that Bustamante should give up his place to
Pedraza as the rightful head of the state, though Santa Anna himself had
been the cause of Pedraza’s exclusion on the ground of illegal election.
Supported by the Vera Cruz customhouse and defended by the pestilence of
the coast, he occupied a most advantageous position; and consistency did
not signify.[7]
Near the close of the year the two chiefs, brought together by Pedraza,
adjusted the affairs of the nation—that is to say, the offices—as private
business, and the troops on both sides were liberally rewarded. Congress
protested, but was utterly powerless. Bustamante soon found it wise to give
up the Presidency; and as the elections were not general enough, at the
proper time, to create a Congress, constitutional government vanished.
However, though Pedraza had resigned and even left the country, which no
President could legally do, Santa Anna and Bustamante now hoisted him
into power to complete the term interrupted by Guerrero, while the “best
citizens” fell out over offices and personal issues, and so dissipated the
brightest prospect seen as yet in Mexican public life.[7]

Under these circumstances, of course, the dominant
SANTA ANNA
PRESIDENT general, Santa Anna, was elected President. For Vice-
President the choice fell upon Valentín Gómez Farías,
leader of the radical Federalists. In many ways Farías deserved warm
admiration. He was active, indefatigable, fearless, thoroughly honest, and
willing—perhaps a little more than willing—to serve the public in the
humblest or the highest office. He loved Mexico ardently, and he believed
in the supremacy of law and the civil authority. Unfortunately, however, his
education was inadequate for the work he undertook to do; and he lacked
prudence, patience and common sense. In short, he may be characterized as
a fanatical democrat and political idealist.[7]
Santa Anna now had the army at his back, but he desired to have also the
privileged classes there, and they had been exasperated by his overthrowing
Bustamante. He therefore decided to let them see they needed him; and,
retiring early in 1833 to his estate—which in fact he enjoyed much more
than bearing the burdens of administration—he left the Vice-President in
power. Farías then undertook to transform Mexico, by merely saying “Open
Sesame!” to the Federalist majority in Congress, into a modern, liberal,
orderly and prosperous nation; and reform projects made their appearance
at once. The privileges of the army were boldly attacked and still more
those of the Church, which aimed to be in the social order enough to
dominate it, yet enough outside to escape from all obligations. Farías
proposed, therefore, without having a well-digested plan, to reassert the
supreme authority formerly exercised by the king, abolish the clerical fuero
and the compulsory tithes, provide for popular, lay education, and bring into
productive circulation the immense wealth controlled by the Church; and
Congress, fully aware that reforms were necessary, dazzled by the boldness
and novelty of his programme, and misled by the Mexican faith in theories
and formulæ, supported him.[7]
Naturally such projects and their foreseen consequences roused the clericals
and all in that camp to fury, and the proprietors of great estates also grew
alarmed. The President felt his time had come, and in May, therefore, he
resumed his functions. The progress of reform promptly halted, and soon it
was announced that Santa Anna, ingeniously made a prisoner by his own
troops, had been proclaimed dictator. Undoubtedly he expected the mutiny
that now broke out at the capital to overthrow the government; but Farías,

again in power during the President’s absence, quelled the revolt, and Santa
Anna found it necessary to “escape” and resume his office.[7]
Pretending still with consummate address to favor both
A CHANGE OF
RÉGIME parties—though really a Centralist now—he made both
of them court and fear him, and proved his power by
breaking down and then restoring the army. Of course, however, these
manoeuvres excited suspicion. The privileged classes, though anxious for
his support, hesitated to pledge him theirs, and so he returned on a six
months’ leave of absence to his figurative plow, leaving Tornel, whom an
American minister described as “a very bad man,” to scheme in his interest.
The now embittered and excited forces of reform were thus unleashed, and
before long the Church and the rich proprietors offered the Cincinnatus of
Manga de Clavo absolute power on condition that he should protect them.
In April, 1834, therefore, two months before his leave was to expire, he
took possession of the supreme power again, and was hailed by the clergy
as a new Messiah. Supported soon by the revolutionary “plan” of
Cuernavaca, he made himself in effect a dictator. The cause of reform was
harshly checked and turned back. Congress found the door of its hall
barred; and Farías, covered with abuse, was driven from the country.[7]
Secretly encouraging reactionary insurrections and instigating demands for
a centralized régime, though still professing publicly the other creed, Santa
Anna ordered the people to surrender their weapons, and crushed with a
ruthless hand the state of Zacatecas, which dared to oppose his will.
“Worthy son of the father of lies,” “unrivalled chameleon,” “shameless
hypocrite,” “atheist and blasphemer,” shrieked his opponents. “With the
tranquility of a tiger, which, sated with the flesh of its prey, reposes on what
it does not wish to devour, Santa Anna reports his victory,” cried El
Crepúsculo. But resentment counted for nothing; Mexico was prostrate.
Late in 1835, therefore, a packed Congress of self-seeking politicians
decided upon centralization, and it was understood that Santa Anna would
be chosen President for ten years, with a longer term and a higher title in
prospect. But now the scene was tragically shifted. In March, 1836, the
Texans declared their independence. The Napoleon of the West fell into
their hands at San Jacinto, where they defeated his army; and, as an inkling
got abroad of the unpatriotic agreements made with his captors while in fear

of revenge for his cruelties, he thought it wise to announce, on returning to
Mexico in 1837, a definitive retirement from public life.[7]
According to the organic law, any proposed constitutional change had to
remain under consideration for two years; but the Congress of 1835, not
minding a trifle like this, drew up as fast as possible what it named the
Seven Laws—called by others the Seven Plagues. By December, 1836,
despite the resistance and threats of the Federalists, the new régime was
fully organized, and Bustamante soon held the reins again. The Church and
the wealthy were now satisfied. The army also felt pleased, for the
Federalists denounced its privileges, the cost of the many state offices
created by them reduced the amount of money it could get, and an
aristocratic government seemed likely to need it constantly and pay it with
some regularity; and so the prospect was, especially with Santa Anna
eliminated, that the new regime would be stable.[7]
But among the aristocrats it had become unfashionable by this time to
meddle with politics. The groups that made up the dominant party, though
united against the democrats, had little else in common. Each group desired
to enjoy privileges and shun burdens; each aimed to exploit the nation; and
there was not enough to satisfy all. The expulsion of the Spaniards had
weakened the numbers, ability, energy and wealth of the party; and now, as
after every revolution, it proved so impossible to fulfill the promises made
to win support, that soon disappointed friends were allying themselves with
open enemies.[8]
A new difficulty, too, arose, for under a centralized system the government
had to assume financial responsibilities previously borne by the states. A
strong treasury was therefore essential; yet the rich, and in particular the
clergy, would not pay enough to carry on the government they had
established. Consequently funds had to be borrowed, Church property being
the only available security; and the clergy, instead of meeting the terms of
the money-lenders, busily hid or exported their wealth. Every dollar that
could be raised had to be given the army as the price of its allegiance, and
for six months not one civil employé, from the President down, received a
salary. In October, 1837, the ministry resigned in a body, and would not
return to their desks, for nobody cared to support so heavy a load when
there was no chance to steal or even to get paid.[8]

Early in November the British representative, although the legation had all
along sympathized with the aristocratic party, reported that Centralism had
completely failed; and it was notorious that Bustamante himself desired a
restoration of Federalism as the only possible expedient. Seeing their
enemies divided, the liberals took heart, and petitions for a change of
system were soon pouring in from the departments, which had now taken
the places of the states. Dissatisfaction spread. Pronunciamientos began,
and only the popularity of Bustamante, who had mellowed with age and
foreign travel during his period of eclipse, maintained the government. Yet
Federalism could not act, for at this juncture the French minister was
pressing claims, and the two wings of the party—the moderates led by
Pedraza and the radicals led by Farías—disagreed passionately on this
foreign issue. A complete state of anarchy prevails, reported our consul at
Mexico in December, 1838.[8]
Santa Anna all this time was quietly at work, though he
FALL OF
BUSTAMANTE had called heaven to witness that he would be loyal to
the existing regime; and, as often happened, chance
came to his aid. A French fleet captured the fortress of Ulúa, off Vera Cruz,
at this time, and a party of marines landed at the town, destroyed some war
material, and then marched back to reëmbark. Santa Anna commanded
there, and, being wounded in attacking these troops, had to undergo
amputation at the knee. This was his opportunity, and he at once issued a
most eloquent address. Already he had outdone opera bouffe, and now he
outdid himself. “Probably this will be the last victory I shall give my
country,” he said; “I die happy that Divine Providence has permitted me to
devote to her every drop of my blood.... May all my fellow-citizens,
forgetting my political errors, concede to me the one title that I would leave
my children, that of a Good Mexican.” There had been no victory, for the
French drove him out of Vera Cruz before he could dictate the address, and
he did not dream of dying; but the Mexicans are tender-hearted, and the
episode—particularly in contrast with the inaction of the government,
which could not afford an efficient regular army and dared not arm the
people—gave him a fresh hold on the nation, even though all capable of
thinking felt by this time profoundly skeptical about him.[8]
Accordingly he became the power behind the tottering throne in December,
1838, and when Bustamante took the field early the next year to put down

an insurgent named Mejía, the Centralist leaders had Santa Anna made
temporary President as a bulwark against Federalism. The quality of his
penitence quickly showed itself. His power was audaciously used to cripple
Bustamante, suppress liberty, gain partisans and benefit himself and his
friends. In a word, he achieved the most lawless and shameless
administration yet witnessed, and though universally feared, was now
execrated by almost all except his personal followers. In July, 1839, the
President resumed his functions, but matters only went on from worse to
worst—corruption rampant in the administration, public spirit dead. In July,
1840, rioters actually made him their prisoner for a time. False advisers,
particularly Tornel, drew him farther and farther into Santa Anna’s net.
Corpulent and aging rapidly, he fell into a sort of mental stupor; and in
August, 1841, the British minister reported that the government, if left to
itself, would soon expire of inanition. As for the nation, it was not merely in
anarchy but in chaos. Even the conservatives admitted that the Seven Laws
would not do.[8]
This very month rang the bell for the next scene. General Mariano Paredes,
another important figure in the history of our war with Mexico, was a brave
but rather besotted officer, more honest but less clever than his leading
contemporaries. On a mere pretext, though he owed much to Bustamante,
he revolted; more or less in collusion with him Santa Anna pronounced as
mediator; and General Valencia, correctly described by an American consul
as “destitute of every principle of honor or honesty,” treacherously getting
hold of what was called the citadel at Mexico, rebelled on his own account:
check from two knights and a castle, as Señora Calderón wittily described
the situation. Weary, disgusted, indifferent, cynical, men heard unmoved the
“Quién vive?” and “Centinela alerte!” of the insurgents at the capital, and
between two puffs of their cigarettes gossiped about the revolution as if it
had occurred in Europe. It was only a game of chess, and the public were
spectators. They understood now that nearly all the pompous phrases of the
politicians had meant, as Lara’s Revista Política of 1840 put it, “Move, and
let me have your place.”[8]
In this confusion Santa Anna, whom the conservatives had now decided to
support instead of the inefficient Bustamante, came rapidly to the front. His
triumph was soon foreseen, and the nation acquiesced. Most people knew
he was a villain, but felt that at any rate he possessed energy. Probably he

could keep order, they said, and perhaps, if entirely trusted, would act well.
If not, one big rascal could not be so bad as many little ones; and at the very
least any change must be an improvement. In reality this bold, cunning,
hungry, sharp adventurer, who knew what he wanted and got it, dazzled the
average Mexicans. They saw in him a fulfilment of themselves, and in
letting him rule they had the feeling of success without the trouble.[8]
For a while Bustamante, whose government practically faded out in
September, 1841, resisted with dignity though with no chance of survival;
but at length, in a fit of desperation, he cut the ground of legality from
under his own feet by pronouncing for Federalism, and on October 7, Santa
Anna, driving rapidly through Mexico behind four white horses belonging
to a stockbroker, with a retinue of splendid coaches and an immense escort
of cavalry, took up his quarters at the palace in Tacubaya, a few miles
beyond. Yet not a single viva greeted his magnificent entry or his address to
Congress. Memory paralyzed admiration. In despair, not love, Mexico
consented to be his.[8]
By the new arrangement, called the Bases of Tacubaya, a
SANTA ANNA
VIRTUALLY new Congress was to draw a new constitution.
DICTATOR Meantime some one, the choice of a junta appointed by
the successful chief, was to have the powers “necessary
for the organization of all branches of the public service,” and naturally
Santa Anna himself received the votes of his junta. This arrangement was
regarded by the nation as a mere parenthesis, but the General held a
different idea. On October 10, the gloomy old cathedral was as bright as
gold, silver, gems and hundreds of candles could make it. Troops entered
the sacred precincts, and formed to the music of drums and cornets. The
archbishop proceeded to the main entrance in cope and mitre, holding in his
hands a crucifix equally beautiful and precious, and there he waited for
about three quarters of an hour, when a military officer, who had not even
deigned to put on full dress, marched in and seated himself on a splendid
throne. A large suite of generals followed, but none of them ventured to sit,
though the Te Deum lasted an hour; and finally the man on the throne rose
and took this oath: I swear to God—to do as I please; for such was the
meaning of the Bases. Hardened by seeing his superior astuteness, audacity
and energy balked so many times by circumstances and a lack of confidence

in his honor, Santa Anna proposed, now that he once more had the power, to
grip it with a hand of steel.[9]
As dictator he indulged himself by running through the entire diapason
from childishness to omnipotence, announcing impossibilities and
attempting absurdities. The freedom of the press and the freedom of speech
were violated. The tariff was juggled with for selfish pecuniary reasons. He
ordered the university to give one of his friends a degree and a chair—that
is to say, learning and a profession. He closed a bank without allowing it the
time to liquidate. He put up a cheap building of rubble work that was
merely an eyesore—though Tornel compared it to the Simplon road of
Napoleon—and the city government had to fall down and worship it. His
amputated foot was dug up and reinterred with extraordinary pomp. On the
top of a monument was erected a gilded statue of him pointing toward
Texas, though some said it was pointing at the mint. The Church, now
governed by the soft Archbishop Posada, drowsy with satisfaction and
carelessly fattening on sweetmeats presented to him by adoring nuns, was
forced to make “loans”; and payments on public debts, for which revenues
had been solemnly pledged, were suspended.[9]
Nothing, one might almost say, was too great or too small for Santa Anna, if
it looked auriferous. No coach wheel could turn without first paying a tax.
Anybody with a promising scheme to get national funds could find a
partner at the palace. Brokers and contractors took the places of politicians;
wealthy merchants, able to loan great sums at great percentages, took the
places of statesmen. Corruption was rampant everywhere, of course. “An
arbitrary system, indeed, must always be a corrupt one,” as Burke said;
“there never was a man who thought he had no law but his own will, who
did not soon find that he had no end but his own profit.” These words
describe Santa Anna’s course. And when his chest was full enough and his
army big enough, putting a substitute in his place and shaking off the cares
of state, he went down to enjoy his gambling and cockfighting and plan his
next political move at Manga de Clavo, secure from observation and
protected by troops. Hints of a formal dictatorship began to be heard.[9]
To keep up appearances, however, he summoned the proposed Congress. A
majority of the members were Federalists, but he promptly informed it that
Federalism would not do, and when they insisted on their notion, Tornel,
the minister of war, who was glad to be his lackey and wear the livery of the

house, barred Congress out of its hall. Presently, without a sign of protest
from any one, it was dissolved by decree; and then eighty persons, chosen
by the administration, drew up a new constitution called the Organic Bases.
Valencia was president of this junta; and both he and Paredes began to plot
against the dictator. Santa Anna forced them to swallow their ambitions for
the time being, however, and by dint of military interference—though his
enemies were bestirring themselves and he was now increasingly unpopular
—he became President in January, 1844, under the new constitution. This
appeared like a concession to legality, but no doubt it was intended as a
recoil for another spring. His dream of empire still went on, it was fully
believed.[9]
Although the minister of justice described this period as “an epoch of
glory” and an “era of absolute felicity,” the new Congress manifested a
disposition to antagonize the President; but an almost supernatural dread of
him paralyzed even his enemies, and he readily bowled them over. Then he
was given a special sum of four millions for war with Texas; and after that
sum was promptly absorbed, he demanded not only ten millions more but
“extraordinary powers” to lay taxes. This meant that he wanted to have
every man’s property at his disposal, and it was generally believed that with
a foreign war as excuse he would soon try to make himself autocrat.
Congress resisted, and before long was suspended.[9]
But now the people took fire. They had trusted Santa
DOWNFALL OF
SANTA ANNA Anna completely, and their confidence had been as
completely abused. It was felt that he had shown a
deliberate intention to ignore the public interest and feed upon the nation—
disregarding all personal rights, threatening all fortunes and contradicting
all principles. Paredes, who had never forgiven Santa Anna for running him
off the track in 1841, pronounced. In November, 1844, war began. The
President attempted both to cajole and to terrorize his enemies, and moved
against the insurgents with a powerful army; but on December 6 the troops
at the capital revolted, and the nation concurred. In the departments he was
particularly hated, for he had impoverished them with taxes and spent the
money elsewhere; but Mexico itself blazed. “Death to the lame man!”
shouted the populace, dragging his foot round the streets. Dazed and
overwhelmed, Santa Anna, after moving about irresolutely with his
dwindling army, left it with a small escort early in January, 1845, and then

took to his heels with only four servants. Before long some peasants
captured him, and later in the year he was banished.[9]
At first sight this collapse amazes us. It seems impossible that Santa Anna,
whose particular talent lay in discovering the direction of political currents,
should have lost so suddenly his tremendous power. But the explanation is
readily found. Without a doubt he was the foremost Mexican of his time.
Seen at the head of a ragged, undisciplined mob called a regiment, inspiring
them with eye, gesture and words, and leading them on with almost
electrical energy; seen at a banquet, where he could show himself—despite
the six colonels erect and stiff behind his chair—merely a prince of good
fellows, dignified but cordial, courtly but unrestrained, brilliant yet
apparently simple; seen at the council board, seizing upon a shrewd idea
expressed by one of his associates and developing, illustrating and applying
it in a way that made its real author marvel at his chief’s wisdom; seen in
one of his outbursts of Jacksonian rage, as when he threatened at a
diplomatic reception to run the boundary line between Mexico and the
United States at the cannon’s mouth; seen at the opera house, in a crimson
and gold box with a retinue of crimson and gold officers, dressed in the
plainest of costumes himself, and wearing on his countenance an interesting
expression of gentle melancholy and resignation, as if he were sacrificing
himself for the nation and shrank from the gaze of an adoring public—seen
in these and other phases he appeared remarkable, and even, as combining
them, extraordinary.[9]
But in reality he was a charlatan. Though head of an army, he knew nothing
of military science; though head of a nation, he knew nothing of
statesmanship. By right of superiority and by right of conquest Mexico
seemed to be his; and, with what Burke described as “the generous rapacity
of the princely eagle,” he proposed to take the chief share of wealth, power,
honor and pleasure, leaving to others the remnants of these as a
compensation for doing the work. It was a cardinal principle with him that
the masses could be ignored; and in 1844, having reduced the Church to
subservience and formed a combination with the military and the financial
men, based on a community of interest in exploiting the national revenues,
he deemed himself invulnerable, the more so because the coterie of base
flatterers that he loved to have about him reflected this conviction. Of a true
national uprising he had no conception; and when this came, finding

himself in the presence of a power that amazed and overawed him, seeing
his axioms disproved and his pillars going down, he lost heart, and plunged
from the zenith to the nadir of his essentially emotional nature.[9]
Santa Anna’s legal successor was General J. J. Herrera,
HERRERA
BECOMES president of the council of state, a fair, pacific,
PRESIDENT reasonable and honest man; and the new ministry
commanded respect. For a time the halcyon days of
1825 returned. This was the first great popular movement since Mexico had
become independent. All had united in it, and therefore all were in
harmony; every one had assisted, and therefore every one felt an agreeable
expectation of reward. Factions laid down their arms. For a few weeks all
remembered they were Mexicans. But the situation was extremely difficult.
Santa Anna’s constitution, which commanded no respect because neither
authorized by the people nor endorsed by good results, was still in force. All
who believed in his system, including twenty thousand half-pay—or rather
no-pay—officers, dissipated, hungry and reckless, began at once to plot for
his return or for some one of the same kind to succeed him. Herrera’s aim to
introduce reforms, both civil and military, gave great offence. Paredes,
representing the Church and the aristocracy, stood at the head of the main
army, and soon showed a disposition to hold aloof. Indeed every prominent
man had a busily scheming clique.[10]
The correct course for the new President would have been to declare for the
constitution of 1824, and throw himself upon the Federalists; but, fearing
that such a step would excite a revolution, he adopted the timid and
hopeless policy of trying to balance one party against another. Owing to
fear of the army, though he knew he could not rely upon it, he dared not
organize militia; and before long a body of troops were allowed to revolt
with impunity. Soon, therefore, the government had no prestige and no
substantial backing. Every sort of a complaint was made against it. The
financial troubles became acute. Confusion and uncertainty reigned, and the
President was physically incapable of a hard day’s work.[10]
In March a conspiracy that indicated an ominous combination of Federalists
and Santannistas came to light. In May, under strenuous pressure from
England and France, the government shrinkingly agreed to recognize Texas
if she would bind herself not to join the United States; and this wise though
tardy move brought an avalanche of abuse upon it. In June the Federalists

rose, but the affair was badly managed and failed. Tornel, the arch-plotter, a
general who never had a command, was sent to the northern army; and
other turbulent men were imprisoned. But still the government merely
drifted—blind, irresolute, vacillating, moribund; and the general public
looked on with complete indifference. Going to sleep red and waking up
green—for revolutions usually began at night—was no longer a novelty.[10]
In August the ministers resigned; “the chief offices of state were begging in
the streets,” wrote the correspondent of the London Times; and the men
who finally took them, while personally well enough, had little strength and
less prestige. By September the government stood in hourly fear of a
revolution; but so little booty could be seen, that although the plots
thickened, they were lazily developed, and amounted to nothing. Paredes,
the Santannistas and the Federalists became constantly more threatening,
however, and the administration more and more afraid to take any step
whatever, good or bad. Nobody could guess what it would do to-day from
what it did yesterday. The anarchy of weakness constituted the government.
A triumvirate of Paredes, Tornel and Valencia was much talked of. Many
prayed for some respectable despot, many for a foreign prince; and some of
the more thoughtful suggested cautiously an American protectorate.
“Sterile, deplorably sterile” has been the movement against Santa Anna,
exclaimed the friendly Siglo XIX in October, describing it as “a moment of
happy illusion.” By this time the administration was powerless even at the
capital; and on November 30 El Amigo del Pueblo, an opposition sheet,
announced, “There is no government in Mexico.” This, however, was
premature. Before the dénouement of this tragi-farce the United States was
to enter upon the scene; and as this new phase of the drama requires to be
prepared for, we must here leave Herrera, for a brief space, in the midst of
his difficulties.[10]
Sterile indeed and most deplorable was the whole series
DEPLORABLE
STATE OF of events that we have now followed. One is glad to pass
MEXICO on; but let it be noted first that while circumstances
promoted, they did not produce it. The Mexicans knew
better, far better, than they acted. In 1824 the Constituent Congress pointed
out distinctly in a solemn address to the nation, that without virtue liberal
institutions would fail, revolution would follow revolution, anarchy would
ensue; and as time went on editors and orators frequently traced the causes

of Mexico’s downfall in vivid and truthful sentences. The trouble was that a
great majority of those who might have advanced her welfare preferred ease
to effort, guile to wisdom, self-indulgence to self-control, private advantage
to the public weal, partisan victory to national success; and naturally, in
such a state of things, the few honorable, public-spirited citizens could
seldom command a sufficient following to accomplish anything. Our
leading public men, said a contemporary, having been for one reason or
another contemptible, have learned to despise and distrust one another, and
the public, sick to death of their manœuvres, have learned to despise and
distrust them all; yet such persons—demagogues and soldiers—were still
permitted to lead. Paper constitutions and paper laws, naturally of little
validity in the eyes of such a wilful, passionate race, had been rendered by
experience contemptible.
For the consequences, if there be such a principle as national responsibility,
the people as a body were responsible; and so they were for the results of
this deplorable schooling as it affected the relations between their country
and ours. The inheritance from Spain had been unfortunate, but there had
been time enough to recover from it; and instead of improving, the
Mexicans had even degenerated.[11]

III
THE RELATIONS BETWEEN THE UNITED
STATES AND MEXICO
1825–1843

In turning from the domestic to the foreign affairs of Mexico we must
beware of carrying prejudice with us. Our minds must be open to all the
facts, and see them exactly as they were. But it is right and even necessary,
for our guidance in interpreting these facts, to presume that aliens,
traditionally disliked by the Mexicans,[1] were treated no more kindly, fairly
and honestly than fellow-citizens; and the evidence is conclusive that even
the highest authorities were generally unbusinesslike, often unjust or tricky,
and on too many occasions positively dishonorable in their dealings with
foreigners.[2]
Our first minister to Mexico, received there on June 1, 1825, was Joel R.
Poinsett. Apparently a better man for the office could not have been chosen
or even created; and the warm interest of the United States in the cause of
Spanish-American independence, our prompt recognition of Mexico, and
the fact that her political institutions had been modeled upon ours, were
additional auguries for the success of his mission. But duty required him to
stand for a Protestant power in a country intensely Roman Catholic, to
represent democracy where the dominant element consisted of aristocrats
hoping more or less generally for a Bourbon king, to support Monroe’s
doctrine of America for the Americans against the strength of Europe and
the European affiliations of Mexico, to vindicate the equal position of the
United States where Great Britain had established a virtual protectorate, to
insist upon full commercial privileges when the Spanish-American states
favored mutual concessions, and to antagonize other influences possessing
no little strength.[3]
His only feasible course was to affiliate with men of the popular,
democratic, Federalist party. Largely through his advice they abandoned
their plan of rebelling, placed their confidence in organization and the

ballot, and so gained the ascendency. They soon fell into
FRICTION
BETWEEN THE excesses of their own, however, which they were glad to
TWO COUNTRIES charge against a Protestant and foreigner; all the other
elements antagonized by him joined in the accusations;
envy of the recognized prosperity of the United States assisted; and in the
end he came to be almost universally denounced by the Mexicans as the
diabolical agent of a jealous, hypocritical, designing government.[3]
Of course, the Poinsett affair planted a root of bitterness in the United
States. Our national authorities could but protest against the attacks upon
our minister that were made by state legislatures in contempt of all
diplomatic usage, against the neglect of the Mexican Executive to shield
him, and against the general attitude of distrust and ill-will exhibited by that
country. Indeed, our government fully believed that baseless popular clamor
had been permitted to exert “a sinister influence” against the Americans in
its councils, and pointedly informed Guerrero that unless “a marked
change” in the temper of his administration should “speedily” occur, a
collision might result; and of course the people of the United States could
not fail to notice the abusive and even ferocious treatment accorded to our
representative, against whom no charges were made by the Mexican
government, and to resent still more keenly the insults that were lavished
upon the character and purposes of the American nation. The fact that
Poinsett continued to be an important factor in our public life, even
becoming a member of the Cabinet at a later day, tended to emphasize these
feelings, both official and popular.[4]
Besides all this, official work of his added to the irritation in both countries.
As one of his principal duties, he was instructed to make a treaty
reaffirming the boundary agreed upon with Spain in 1819, or, if he could,
buy a portion at least of Texas. The proposal that our neighbor should sell
us territory has been called by partisan writers in the United States,
insulting, but as we have made purchases from Spain, France, Russia and
Mexico herself, this accusation is evidently unwarranted. On the other hand
the suggestion was reasonable. We for our part desired the land, aside from
its intrinsic value, as a needed protection to New Orleans and the
Mississippi; and Mexico not only appeared to misprize it, but could have
strengthened herself somewhat by letting it go. Later it became a fashion
with her public men to declaim about its preciousness and beauty; but as

late as 1836, according to Santa Anna himself, many officials did not know
where Texas was or what nation claimed it. Mexico had ten times the area
she could people, and what she needed in that quarter was the means of
shielding her northern settlements from the Indians. Moreover, under
contracts already made, Texas was filling up with men who, as President
Victoria saw in 1825, were not at all likely to assimilate with the Mexicans;
and since it was recognized that a mistake had been made in admitting such
colonists, it might well have seemed the part of wisdom to cut off the
infected section before it should set an example of dissatisfaction, and
perhaps cause trouble also with the United States.[5]
Poinsett, accordingly, taking the matter up in July, 1825, stated frankly that
the treaty of 1819 was recognized by his country as binding, but expressed
a desire to lay it aside, and fix upon a more satisfactory line. This pleased
Victoria and Alamán, for they imagined they could push the boundary
eastward almost to the Mississippi, but in spite of Poinsett’s urgency and his
dropping the plan to extend our territory, a long delay followed. At last,
however, on January 12, 1828, a treaty of limits reaffirming the agreement
with Spain was duly signed. In the course of April it reached Washington
and was ratified. On the last day of the month our secretary of state notified
the Mexican representative that he was ready to exchange ratifications, and
reminded him that under the terms of the instrument this would have to be
done by May 12; but Obregón was not prepared to act, and for that reason
the treaty failed.[6]
Yet the Mexicans not only held that the United States caused the
miscarriage in order to prosecute designs upon Texas, but charged officially
as well as on the street, with neither evidence nor plausibility in favor of the
accusation, that our minister stole the paper—entrusted to him on May 10
for transmission—which would have authorized Obregón to exchange the
ratifications. So we had in 1830 this extraordinary picture: on the one hand,
the United States earnestly desiring the prosperity and friendship of
Mexico, and pursuing a just and sympathetic policy towards her; and, on
the other, Mexico accusing us of hostile intentions and the basest arts. From
that day on, everything we did was viewed with a jaundiced eye.[6] The
treaty of limits was, however, revived by fresh negotiations, and in April,
1832, went into effect. By its terms a joint commission to run the line had to
be appointed within a year from this date, and presently Mexico received

notice, both at her own capital and at ours, that an American commissioner
had been named; but she paid no attention to the matter, and the year
expired. Our minister was then directed to negotiate a new agreement,
labored for more than twelve months, and finally, by addressing strong
language personally to the acting President, carried the point. Yet the United
States was officially denounced for endeavoring—and by wretched artifices
—to delay the fixing of the boundary.[7]
Meanwhile a treaty of amity and commerce, proposed by Poinsett at about
the same time as the treaty of limits, had been pursuing a checkered career,
though a similar agreement between Mexico and England went rapidly
through. At one stage of the proceedings the Mexican plenipotentiaries kept
our minister entirely in the dark about an important concession made to
Great Britain, falsely assuring him that equally favorable terms were
offered to this country. Indeed, Victoria showed a strong disposition to
block the business altogether. July 10, 1826, however, the negotiators
reached an agreement, but it did not prove satisfactory to the American
Senate. A second treaty signed in February, 1828, did not please the
Congress of Mexico, and was properly rejected. At a later date negotiations
were again resumed; but in 1831 that body held the matter in abeyance for
more than nine months. At last, one day before the session was to close, our
minister gave notice that unless the treaty were concluded, he would leave
the country. The government at Washington also exerted some pressure by
insisting that the two matters should fare alike, and postponing the re-
ratification of the treaty of limits; and consequently both treaties became
law at the same time, April 5, 1832. Yet for nearly a year the commercial
treaty was not promulgated by Mexico; and hence, though her citizens
residing in the United States could have the benefit of it, Americans in
Mexico could not, for the local authorities with whom it was necessary to
deal declared they had no knowledge of such an agreement.[8]
Toward the close of 1829 Guerrero, as a desperate throw for popularity,
asked for the recall of Poinsett, merely saying that public opinion demanded
it; and then for about six years the United States had as its representative a
friend of Jackson’s named Anthony Butler, whose only qualifications for
the post were an acquaintance with Texas and a strong desire to see the
United States obtain it. In brief, he was a national disgrace. Besides having
been through bankruptcy more than once, if we may believe the Mexican

minister at Washington, and having a financial interest in the acquisition of
this Mexican territory, he was personally a bully and swashbuckler, ignorant
at first of the Spanish language and even the forms of diplomacy,
shamefully careless about legation affairs, wholly unprincipled as to
methods, and, by the testimony of two American consuls, openly
scandalous in his conduct. One virtue, to be sure, according to his own
account he possessed: he never drank spirits; but one learns of this with
regret, for an overdose of alcohol would sometimes be a welcome excuse
for him.[9]
His particular business was to obtain as much of Texas as possible, an
enterprise that lay close to Jackson’s heart; and he began by visiting the
province—about whose loyalty and relations with the United States much
concern was already felt at Mexico—when on the way to his post. This
promise of indiscretion in office was admirably fulfilled. Maintaining a
hold on our President by positive assurances of success, he loafed,
schemed, made overtures, threatened, was ignored, rebuffed, snubbed and
cajoled, fancied he could outplay or buy the astute and hostile Alamán, tried
to do “underworking” with Pedraza, plotted bribery with one Hernández,
the confessor of Santa Anna’s sister, grossly violated his conciliatory
instructions by engaging in a truculent personal affair with Tornel, and was
finally, after ceasing to represent us, ordered out of the country. In short he
succeeded only in proving that we had for minister a cantankerous,
incompetent rascal, in making it appear that our government was eager to
obtain Mexican territory, and in suggesting—though explicitly and
repeatedly ordered to eschew all equivocal methods—that we felt no
scruples as to means. On the ground of Butler’s connection with disaffected
Texas, Mexico politely asked for his recall near the close of 1835, and in
December Powhatan Ellis, born a Virginian but now a federal judge in
Mississippi, was appointed chargé d’affaires.[10]
A few months later Texas broke away from the mother-
THE TEXAN
REVOLUTION country, and her former lords felt sure that from
beginning to end, in the colonization, rebellion and
successful defence of that region, the hand of the American government
could plainly enough be seen. Their state of feeling seemed to Butler “a
perfect tempest of passion,” and Ellis believed that the Cabinet of Mexico
discussed seriously the question of an open rupture with the United States.

The Mexican view, however, although supported by a section of the
American public, was radically incorrect. Essentially the migration of our
citizens across the Sabine formed a part of the great movement that peopled
the Mississippi valley. The causes of the Texan rebellion were provided by
Mexico herself. That step actually crossed the wish and aims of our
administration, which desired to buy the province—not see it become an
independent country. From the very first, our national authorities
proclaimed and endeavored to enforce neutrality; and they gave the Texans
no assistance in their struggle for independence. The British minister at
Mexico expressed the opinion to Santa Anna that our government had done
all that could be expected, and all that lay in its power; and Santa Anna did
not venture to deny this. Individual Americans and sometimes Americans in
groups did, it is true, contribute materially to aid the cause of Texas; but in
most cases their action was entirely lawful, while in the others it could not
be prevented. Moreover, these few trespasses against the law of neutrality
were in substance only just retribution for the tyranny, misgovernment and
atrocities of Mexico. In reality, therefore, our skirts were as clear as
reasonably could have been expected.[11]
One phase of the case, however, which excited special indignation at
Mexico, requires notice. Two streams from the north send their waters into
Sabine Lake, and it was held by some that either of these could be regarded
as the Sabine River and, therefore, as marking the boundary. In October,
1833, Butler urged that we insist upon the western stream, commonly called
the Neches, and occupy in force the valuable intermediate region, which
included Nacogdoches; and for a time Jackson felt inclined to do so. Near
the close of 1835 Mexico was officially warned against encroaching upon
our territory while fighting the Texans, and suspected that Secretary of State
Forsyth took this action with a view to the Nacogdoches district. She
therefore became alarmed, and early in 1836 a special minister hastily set
out for Washington to investigate the matter. This minister was Manuel E.
de Gorostiza, a witty, agreeable man of the world, Mexican by birth,
Spanish by education, the author of some clever dramas, but not
professionally a topographer, a lawyer or even a diplomat.[12]
Then a delicate matter became suddenly menacing. On
BOUNDARY
DIFFICULTIES both sides of the Sabine there were Indians, who loved
war, whisky and plunder as much as they hated work

and the whites. A paper boundary, particularly one in dispute, meant
nothing to them. Once roused, they were practically sure, as Gorostiza
admitted, to rob and murder wherever they could; and not only the fighting
in Texas but at least one Mexican emissary enkindled their passions. United
States Indians crossed the line and perpetrated outrages. Homes were
abandoned. People fled panic-stricken from the vicinity of Nacogdoches;
citizens of the town implored American protection against our own Indians;
and evidence of an incipient conflagration was placed in the hands of
General E. P. Gaines, who commanded our troops on the border.[12] Now
the treaty of amity required each country to prevent its Indians from
ravaging the other; but, as Mexico did not wish us at this time to keep our
savages from harassing the Texans, and did not request us to act for her in
fulfilling her pledge, which she could not fulfil herself, possibly the treaty,
though often cited by the United States, had technically no direct bearing.
But the American government argued rightly that substance was more
important than form; that the intent of the treaty was to require both
countries to prevent “by all the means in their power” an Indian war on the
frontier; that it was the paramount duty of the Executive to protect our
people, who, as Gorostiza virtually admitted, were liable to be endangered
by the threatened conflagration; that as it was known to be physically
impossible for Mexico to comply with the treaty, she could not complain of
us for doing what she had agreed ought to be done, and had undertaken to
do; that, should it be necessary to cross what had been commonly assumed
to be the boundary in order to perform our duty—particularly in order to
prevent our own Indians from perpetrating outrages on the other side—
common sense and the spirit of the treaty warranted our doing it; and that,
on account of the distance to the Sabine, it was necessary to give the
general commanding there a certain credence and a certain discretion. Our
government could have reasoned also, and very likely it did, that the strong
desire of the Texans, de facto successors to the Mexicans in that region, that
we should fulfil the obligation which the treaty created, was an additional
ground for so doing.[12]
Accordingly Gaines, while ordered with strong emphasis to maintain a rigid
neutrality, was authorized to advance as far as Nacogdoches—an excellent
point from which to defend the American frontier and prevent our Indians
from operating beyond it—should such a step seem positively necessary;
and then, as measures of precaution, Forsyth not only explained our views

and intentions personally to Gorostiza, but made in writing what that
minister himself described as a “frank and noble” statement, saying that the
occupation of the intermediate region, should it occur, would be temporary
and for the sole purpose indicated, and would have no significance in regard
to the boundary question.[12]
Apparently satisfied by the directness and candor of this policy, Gorostiza
at first admitted the right of the United States to enter Texas in order to
punish actual or prevent intended outrages, and thus conceded that the
frontier could be crossed without offence. But apparently, when he had
taken leave of the secretary of state, his distrust returned, and his Mexican
subtlety imagined all sorts of ugly possibilities. It disturbed him that
Forsyth did not formally commit himself, in advance of a survey, against
the Neches claim. It alarmed him to find that the state department could not
give him early and exact information as to Gaines’s movements in a remote,
unsettled region. He felt angry that Lewis Cass, who was secretary of war
but of course had no control over our foreign relations, looked upon
Nacogdoches as American territory. Various other things also appeared to
him suspicious, when really his lack of judgment was the chief or only
reason. Most important of all, no doubt, he thought of public opinion in
Mexico, which was entirely unacquainted with American directness as
exemplified by Forsyth, intensely suspicious of us, and intensely hostile.[12]
He retracted, therefore, as much as possible of his
DIPLOMATIC
CLASHES concurrence, opened a war of notes upon our state
department, and near the end of the year 1836, on
learning from the secretary that in spite of his objections American troops
had gone to Nacogdoches, demanded his passports, and left our shores in
wrath. His conduct in so doing was officially endorsed by his government,
and anti-American feeling in that country became deeper and hotter than
before. Nothing could be seen there except that “sacred” soil claimed and
long occupied by Mexico, though now out of her control, had been
profaned by Gaines’s troops, and thus, as all Mexicans argued, the way
opened for limitless aggressions. To make the case even worse, it was
erroneously believed that Houston’s victory at San Jacinto had really been
gained by troops then in the service of the United States, and it was said
that we were preparing to attack Mexico very soon by sea and by land.[12]

Our recognition of Texas, which occurred early in 1837, was entirely in line
with our previous action in similar cases, was less prompt than our
recognition of Mexico herself had been, and seemed not only warranted but
required by the circumstances. That republic had a government in operation
which appeared to be competent, and was thought likely to endure. Santa
Anna, the President of Mexico, admitted that she could not hope to gain
control of the revolted province, even should its troops be vanquished in the
field, and expressed a desire that we should open the way to a settlement of
the controversy by granting recognition. After 1836, as the Mexican
minister of war stated eight years later, there was no serious talk of
attempting to subdue Texas. At the date of recognition, since war between
us and Mexico seemed almost inevitable, there appeared to be no great need
of considering her susceptibilities; and it was feared that England
entertained certain designs, unfavorable to us, regarding Texas, which could
be defeated or at least hindered by taking this action. As Mexico was totally
unable to protect American vessels in the port of Galveston, we had to
establish relations with the power that could do so, or else conduct an
important part of our trade under hazardous conditions; and no commercial
nation willingly accepts the second alternative in such a case. Finally, the
leading powers of Europe endorsed our course by doing the same thing
before any material change in the situation occurred.[13]
Mexico, however, would see none of these facts. Our earliest moves toward
recognition were looked upon by her, said the British minister, “as the
consummation of a design long since entertained” to rob her of that
valuable territory, and excited, as he remarked, a “bitter animosity” that no
explanation could even mitigate; and our formal action became one more
standing ground of complaint and wrath against the government and people
of the United States.[13]
In 1842 Mexican feeling was intensified. At this time Santa Anna thought it
advisable to rekindle the Texan war, now virtually dormant for six years.
Very likely he did not wish to let the case go by default; naturally his
recollections of Texan hospitality moved him to reciprocate; and in all
probability he believed that any prospect of fighting Texas or the United
States in the name of national honor would help to make his autocratic
military rule more acceptable. Accordingly, several annoying though
ineffective raids beyond the Rio Grande occurred, and a serious invasion

was threatened. Upon this, many Texan sympathizers in the Unites States
and many who thought they saw England supporting the Mexican
operations, held meetings, contributed funds, and even migrated to Texas
with guns on their shoulders, all of which they could legally do.[14]
In pursuance of Santa Anna’s policy—probably also to gratify the strong
and universal sentiment of his fellow-citizens, aid the anti-Texas and anti-
administration party in the United States, neutralize perhaps the good
understanding between the United States and England resulting from the
settlement of our northeastern boundary, and possibly gain the sympathy
not only of Great Britain, but of her friend Louis Philippe—Bocanegra, the
minister of relations, now declared war upon us in the field of diplomacy.
May 12, 1842, he addressed Daniel Webster, then secretary of state,
directly, protesting against the aid given Texas by our citizens, and asking
whether the United States could injure Mexico any more, if openly at war
against her. “Certainly not,” he said, in reply to his own question. Then he
issued a circular to the diplomatic corps at Mexico, in which he charged our
government with tolerating aggressions made upon Mexican territory by
“subaltern and local authorities,” and announced that while his country did
not wish to fight the United States, she would certainly do all that was
“imperatively required for her honor and dignity.” Still not satisfied, he
wrote again to Webster, though an answer to the first letter was not yet due,
accusing the American Cabinet itself of “conduct openly at variance with
the most sacred principles of the law of nations and the solemn compacts of
amity existing between the two countries,” and threatening that a
continuance of this policy would be regarded as “a positive act of
hostility.”[14]
In reply to Bocanegra’s first despatch, Webster said that the American
government utterly denied and repelled the charges made against it, and
then with characteristic power he discussed and refuted them. We shall still
maintain neutrality, he concluded, “but the continuance of amity with
Mexico cannot be purchased at any higher rate.” To Bocanegra’s second
letter his reply was no less positive but a great deal briefer. The President,
he wrote, considers the language and tone of that communication “highly
offensive,” and orders “that no other answer be given to it than the
declaration that the conduct of the Government of the United States, in
regard to the war between Mexico and Texas, having been always hitherto

governed by a strict and impartial regard to its neutral obligations, will not
be changed or altered in any respect or in any degree.”[14]
This compelled Mexico, as the British minister observed, to accept the
rebuke invited by her imprudent language or begin hostilities. The former
course was chosen; and Bocanegra humbly replied that, relying upon
Webster’s “frank declaration” of neutrality, he would not dwell further upon
the subject. Even before Webster was heard from, our minister described the
state of feeling at Mexico as “most bitter”; and such a correspondence,
disagreeable enough to Mexican pride, tended naturally to bring the two
countries nearer to the tented field. Richtofen, the Prussian envoy at
Mexico, said that Bocanegra’s note led to a distinctly hostile state of things.
At one time the President of the United States did not see how war could be
avoided; and the Mexican press did about all it could to create a fighting
temper.[14]
An opera bouffe sequel followed. Commodore T. A. C. Jones, lying at
Callao with our Pacific squadron, received some of Bocanegra’s effusions
from the American consul at Mazatlán, who added that war seemed “highly
probable.” Jones could not believe that a responsible minister would write
so fiercely unless prepared for a conflict, and he felt sure the United States
would not flinch. Anxious to provide a port of refuge for American vessels,
alarmed lest England should now obtain California under some arrangement
with Mexico, as she was thought ready to do, and satisfied that hostilities
would actually break out before he could reach that coast, he sailed
promptly and arrived at Monterey on October 19. Being a rather self-
sufficient and hasty person, he investigated the matter there in but a
superficial manner, and the next day politely occupied the town. He now
found that war had not begun; and upon this, after hauling down his flag
and saluting that of Mexico, he sailed away, while General Micheltorena,
the governor, thundered grandiloquent language at him from a safe distance.
Naturally the authorities at Mexico flared up at this episode; but they soon
found that no charge could be made against our government, and, realizing
presently with our minister’s aid that the longest finger pointed toward
Bocanegra and the loudest laugh was at Micheltorena, they willingly
allowed the matter to fade away. It therefore sharpened Mexican hostility
far less than might have been expected, yet no doubt considerably.[15]

Meanwhile fresh trouble arose. The continuance of nominal war between
Mexico and Texas and the constant danger of raids interfered seriously with
our commercial interests. Near the end of June, 1842, therefore, the
American secretary of state, hoping to influence the government of Mexico,
observed to our minister that the war was “not only useless, but hopeless,
without attainable object, injurious to both parties and likely to be, in its
continuance, annoying and vexatious to other commercial nations”; and this
line of policy was followed up in January, 1843. Indeed, Webster gave
notice that a formal protest would very likely be made, unless the state of
war should be ended or respectable forces take the field.[14]
Naturally these remonstrances, however proper, gave much offence; and the
translation of John Quincy Adams’s brilliant speech at Braintree,
Massachusetts, which made an eloquent but mistaken attack upon the
American administration, gave the newspapers of Mexico a fresh
opportunity and fresh reason to ventilate their suspicions of us. A merciless
warfare upon Texas was now announced; and Santa Anna decreed in June,
1843, that all foreigners taken in arms on Texan soil should be executed. In
reply to this, our secretary of state declared that American citizens could not
be prevented from serving abroad, as Frenchmen and Germans had served
in our own revolutionary armies; and that, if captured in Texas, they must
be treated as prisoners of war. “On this point,” he insisted, “there can be no
concession or compromise.”[14]
Here our point of view must be shifted. So far we have
AMERICAN
GRIEVANCES mainly been concerned with complaints on the part of
Mexico, and it will be admitted that in those affairs the
United States did not materially injure her in any unlawful way, and
exhibited no malicious intentions. We must now take up certain American
grievances; and first in order may be mentioned the summary execution of
twenty-two of our citizens in 1835. Under the revolutionist Mejía they had
left the United States for Texas, but they were conducted to Tampico and
there were captured. The minister of relations asserted that they were duly
tried, and simply experienced the rigor of the law; but our minister
ascertained that no trial took place. In spite of international law and treaty
stipulations the government ordered them shot, and shot they were—
officially murdered. At the edge of the grave eighteen of them signed a

denial, their “dying words,” that any intention to invade Mexico had existed
in their minds.[16]
Next may come the systematic endeavor of Mexico, even after signing the
treaty of amity and commerce, to hinder our people from crossing the
boundary, and in particular to keep them out of Texas. Article III of the
treaty said: “The citizens of the two countries shall have liberty to enter into
the same, and to remain and reside in any part of said territories,
respectively.” All Mexicans were offered the full benefit of this agreement
in the United States; but a Mexican law, revived by decree on April 4, 1837,
with evident reference to our people, read thus: “Foreigners are prohibited
from settling in those States and territories of the Confederacy which border
on the territories of their own nations.” This was done on the ground that
political mischief was liable to result from their presence. Now some
allowance is to be made for this view. But in reality all international
relations involve danger, and the country that fears it should use
precautions. American sailors make trouble in French ports, but France does
not refuse them admission—she appoints policemen. The danger from
Americans in Texas was doubtless greater, but so were the advantages to be
derived from their coming. Had Mexico governed that region well, their
presence would have benefited her immensely; and to make a treaty
sanctioning foreign intercourse, and then endeavor to keep the main avenue
of that intercourse barred, in order to avoid the legitimate results of her own
misgovernment, was an international system decidedly more novel than
friendly, more ingenious than straightforward.[17]
In April, 1840, under a verbal order from the governor of upper California,
a considerable number of peaceable Americans and other foreigners,
residing at scattered points, were suddenly arrested in a brutal and even
bloody manner on the pretext of a conspiracy, and their property was
confiscated. Even the possession of legal passports did not protect them.
After suffering inhuman treatment, they were sent in irons to Mexico. There
only the charity of strangers preserved their lives; and at length, after
marching under blows and with bleeding feet as far as Tepic, they were
thrust into prisons. No doubt they were rough in character and behavior, and
the presence of such bold, vigorous foreigners in a weakly governed region
obviously involved some dangers; but they had rights. No evidence
justifying the treatment they received was brought forward, and the

government at Mexico, even while ordering them expelled from the country
without compensation, admitted the illegality of their arrest. Finally, as the
British minister demanded, they were permitted to go home; but Mexico
failed to bear the expense of their journey, as she had promised to do, and
paid but a slight, if any, indemnity. Such conduct when she had millions for
the army, the civil wars and the pockets of officials, was inexcusable. Justly
enough this affair excited the deep indignation of our government and
people.[18]
In June, 1841, a Texan expedition set out for Santa Fe, hoping to bring
about the incorporation of New Mexico in the new republic, but not
planning under any circumstances to make war; and a considerable number
of Americans—among them Kendall, editor of the New Orleans Picayune
—joined the caravan with commercial or other peaceable aims. After a
while the entire body were made prisoners by the Mexican governor.
Kendall’s passport, when duly exhibited under a flag of truce, was taken
from him; and, although the utmost penalty incurred under Mexican law by
the non-combatant Americans was expulsion, they were driven with
instances of extreme brutality to Mexico, and compelled to work in chains
on public roads. For one reason or another a few of our citizens gained their
freedom from time to time; but it was not until well on in 1842—and then
as an act of condescension instead of justice—that Santa Anna released the
main body of them. Of course this country felt highly incensed again; and
the Executive, while disclaiming all desire to screen Americans from any
deserved punishment, ordered our minister to protest against the treatment
of the prisoners, declaring that Mexico would be required to observe the
rules prescribed by modern public law. On the other side of the Rio Grande
still more passion was aroused, but in the opposite sense.[19]
Beginning in a humble way, a caravan trade between St. Louis, Santa Fe
and Chihuahua grew to large proportions, and eventually interested even the
New York and Philadelphia merchants; but this commerce, though
sanctioned by treaty, was looked upon by Mexico with disfavor from the
very first. Excessive taxes were imposed at the frontier and at Chihuahua;
and finally, in August, 1843, Santa Anna arbitrarily locked the door.
Possibly there was a baseless notion that political designs upon New
Mexico were entertained in the United States; competition with native
traders may have been feared; and it was charged that smuggling occurred.

But competition and smuggling are unavoidable features of international
commerce; and if they afforded an adequate reason for disregarding a
formal agreement, international trade arrangements would not be worth
making. Our citizens and government objected therefore vigorously and
with justice to Santa Anna’s course.[20]
One week after this decree went forth, another prohibited the importation of
certain specified articles at any point, and ordered the forfeiture of such
merchandise, already in the hands of dealers, if not sold within the ensuing
twelve months. The list of articles, printed solidly in small type, filled
nearly an octavo page, and apparently was intended to include almost
everything embraced in our trade with Mexico. Peculiarly harsh seemed the
forfeiture provision. Not only was it ex post facto, but our traders by paying
the duty had become entitled to the privilege of selling their goods; and the
American secretary of state could do no less than protest against the law, as
“a manifest violation of the liberty of trade secured by the treaty.” Yet
something still more serious followed it, for aliens were soon prohibited
from doing retail business at all. An attempt was made to defend this order
on the ground that Americans residing in the country were subject to its
laws, usages and statutes; but our government replied that a treaty must be
regarded as the supreme law, and that if one solemn agreement with Mexico
could thus be made a nullity, all the other privileges accorded us could one
by one be abrogated.[21]
These commercial grievances, however, were trifles compared with another
of the same halcyon period. In July, 1843, Tornel, the minister of war,
instructed the governors of California and three other northern departments
to expel all citizens of the United States residing therein, and permit no
more of them to enter. Extraordinary precautions were taken to keep this
measure secret, and Waddy Thompson, our representative at Mexico, first
learned of it on December 23. Four times he inquired in vain whether such
an order had been issued; but when he demanded his passports, Bocanegra
attempted to justify Tornel’s instructions, arguing that every government is
authorized to protect itself against seditious aliens. This was an evasion, for
the order had reference to all Americans, however law-abiding. The
outcome was that now, after the order had been in force almost six months
and after it had been executed in at least one department, directions were
given to make it include all foreigners, and apply only to the seditious.

Thompson, strongly disposed to please the Mexicans, accepted this as
satisfactory; but his country did not, for the governors had authority still to
decide what Americans were dangerous, and expel these without a trial.
Besides, even the modified order required them to prevent our citizens from
entering their jurisdictions, and thus plainly violated the treaty.[22]
All of the grievances thus far mentioned bore directly upon the general
government of Mexico, but there were also many others, primarily
chargeable to minor authorities, in which our national rights were seriously
attacked;[23] and next we reach the question of “American claims”—that is
to say, private injuries for which damages were asked. At once the idea
occurs to us that perhaps our citizens brought their troubles upon
themselves by peculiarly obnoxious conduct. This does not appear likely to
have been the rule, however, for the British, although the Mexicans felt
anxious to have their goodwill and assistance, complained loudly and long,
and their government protested in the most emphatic and sweeping style.
Indeed, said Ashburnham, the chargé of England: “There is scarcely one
foreign power with whom they have had any relation, which has not had
more or less cause to complain of the iniquity and persecution to which its
subjects here have been exposed;” and France, though her claims were
much smaller than ours, took up arms on this account. Bearing in mind,
then, how peculiarly inimical were the people and authorities of Mexico
toward us, one can readily imagine what sort of treatment citizens of ours
had to endure.[24]
In the next place one desires to be sure whether our
THE AMERICAN
CLAIMS actual claims were real or, as some American and
Mexican writers have asserted, were simply “trumped-
up.” That a few of the less important ones had no basis is apparently true,
but it must be remembered that our government was bound to consider any
case resting on prima facie support, and ask for an investigation. It could
not, like the Mexican authorities, examine the records necessary for the
detection of all mistakes and frauds. Moreover, the existence of unfounded
claims, if such there were, does not matter to us, for the real question is
merely whether substantial sums were justly demanded. On that point one
immediately reflects, not only that our national authorities were scarcely
capable of conspiring with skippers and traders to pick the pocket of
Mexico, but that, had they been silly enough to present a list of imaginary

claims, her quick-witted if not profound officials would have delighted to
analyze and expose the frauds. Coming then to the question, one can answer
it positively in the affirmative. Both national and international tribunals
decided that we had well-founded and substantial claims.[25]
It has been urged, however, that our demands required very difficult and
extensive investigations, which in the midst of her embarrassments Mexico
could not reasonably be expected to enter upon; but many, if not most, of
the claims were in fact simple.[26] It has been insisted that as aggrieved
Mexicans in the United States appealed to our courts, the proper policy for
aggrieved Americans was to appeal to the courts of Mexico;[27] but the
assumed analogy did not exist. The Mexican tribunals, in addition to being
notoriously bad from every point of view, were sometimes deliberately used
to perpetrate iniquities, and could not always enforce their fair decisions.[28]
American writers have also argued that it was contemptible for a strong and
rich nation like ours to demand money from a poor neighbor; but the extent
of our national resources had no bearing on the rights of individual citizens,
crippled or impoverished by Mexican injustice. This, however, is by no
means all that should be said. The wisdom and the equity of the civilized
world are embodied in its laws, and those laws agree that one’s debts are to
be paid. Spendthrifts are not exempted from the effects of this rule, and the
poverty of the Mexican treasury was due not only to carelessness but also to
crime. Moreover, if an amiable, “siempre-alegre” young man borrows
without repaying, wastes his substance in riotous living, and perpetrates
outrages on the passers-by, it is the duty of some creditor to bring him
before the courts, and convince him in a practical manner that, as a member
of civilized society, he is accountable for his acts. The same principle holds
of international relations. “All political communities are responsible to
other political communities for their conduct,” wrote Canning to the
Spanish government; Webster enunciated the same rule; and it was not only
the right but the duty of the United States—as a fellow nation, a sister
republic and a next neighbor—to bring Mexico to her senses by teaching
her what membership in the family of nations involved. Had this been done
at the beginning of her wild career, she might have put her house in order
before bad practices became habitual.[29]
Again, we shall presently find good reasons to believe, that had Mexico
fairly examined our claims and frankly stated her financial difficulties, a

lenient arrangement regarding what were after all moderate sums for a
nation to pay could readily have been made. Further still, if Mexico was too
poor to discharge her debts promptly, it was incumbent upon her, besides
recognizing them, to show a certain appreciation of the indulgence accorded
her; but instead of so doing she continued to harass American citizens, and
showed, as we shall find, a distinct lack of good-will and even of
straightforwardness in her dealings with us.
Finally, it has been repeated over and over again by American and Mexican
writers that our claims were urged aggressively. But the history of the
matter does not read in that way. Our demands for redress began early in
Poinsett’s day. In October, 1829, Butler was directed to lay them before the
Mexican government, but at the same time to avoid “anything like menace
or defiance.” Morning after morning his table was covered with fresh
American remonstrances against official conduct, he reported, and for years
his efforts met only with rebuffs; yet his instructions were still to maintain
amicable relations, and our government set him the example.[30]
In June, 1836, Ellis reported that “daily” acts of
OUR CLAIMS
CONSIDERATELY “injustice and oppression” continued to be perpetrated,
URGED while every application for redress was treated with
“cold neglect”; yet the next month he was merely
instructed to “make a fresh appeal” to the “sense of honor and justice” of
the Mexican government, asking that our grievances “should be promptly
and properly examined” and “suitable” redress be afforded. In order,
however, to check what the British minister called “their usual system of
evasion,” a satisfactory reply of some kind within three weeks was to be
required, and should it not be made without “unnecessary” delay, Ellis, after
giving a fortnight’s notice, was to withdraw. In October Monasterio, after
delaying for weeks to answer Ellis, admitted that his predecessors had
neglected this business, and promised he would give his first attention to
our claims, many of which, as we know, were very simple, very old and
very familiar to the foreign office; but his reply, the following month, was
mere evasion. Why, asked Ellis, have not the claims presented during the
past ten years been either accepted or rejected? But the mystery was not
explained, and at the end of December, 1836—after waiting, not three
weeks, but three months—he withdrew. Meanwhile Gorostiza distributed
among the diplomats at Washington a pamphlet in which he accused our

government of grossly dishonorable conduct in regard to Texas; and the
unqualified approval of his superiors turned this impropriety into a grave
international issue.[31]
President Jackson had originally felt most sympathetic toward Mexico; and
although Butler and Ellis agreed that indulgence was a mistaken policy, and
her official journal described all Americans as villains and all our claims as
the pretexts of smugglers, yet in a Message of December, 1836, Jackson
recommended courtesy and great forbearance. The evasions practised upon
Ellis, however, and still more the approval of Gorostiza’s insulting
pamphlet, sharpened his feelings, and early in February, 1837, he laid the
subject of our claims anew before Congress, as it was his right and his duty
to do, proposed to make the next demand for settlement from the deck of a
warship, and asked for authority to undertake reprisals in case that step also
should prove ineffectual. In the official view of Mexico, Gaines’s advance
and Gorostiza’s withdrawal from Washington amounted to a formal rupture,
even though Castillo, her ordinary representative, lingered in the United
States until March; and in our own official opinion the endorsement of
Gorostiza’s conduct, the refusal to examine our claims, and the return of
Ellis could signify hardly less. Under such circumstances Jackson’s
February Message was perfectly normal and proper.[32]
Congress took substantially the same view as the Executive; but there was
some fear of Mexican privateers, a good deal of pity for a sister republic
supposed to be the victim of circumstances, a little unwillingness to
increase Jackson’s power, a pronounced wish to comply exactly with the
treaty of amity, which required formal notice in advance of hostilities, and
considerable hope that Santa Anna, who had now been restored alive to his
country through the magnanimity of the Texans and the Americans, would
reciprocate by endeavoring to adjust our claims. Another consideration,
however, was probably still more potent. The administration party felt that
should war be declared, the opposition would say its real object was the
acquisition of Texas; and so Jackson’s well-known desire to obtain that
region prevented in large measure, instead of causing, an outbreak of
hostilities. It was decided, therefore, to make the final demand for redress in
a peaceful manner, and to show full respect for what the House of
Representatives described as our “ancient, though now estranged,
friend.”[33]

In March, 1837, Van Buren became President, and found it necessary to
take some action. The documents bearing on our claims were critically
examined; fifty-seven cases, apparently free from doubt, were made out and
proved; and in July, Robert Greenhow, interpreter of the state department,
presented them at Mexico with a final demand for redress, adding that we
had no desire to cause embarrassment by pressing for payment. On one
point, however, he insisted: Gorostiza’s conduct must be disavowed. The
minister of relations admitted in reply that certain of the cases did not
require long examination, which was indeed true; but he said the President,
while “most anxious” not to cause delay, wished that “each” of them should
be examined “in its turn” and that “nothing should be left undone” which
could promote “the most speedy and equitable” settlement.[34]
In November Martínez, a new minister to the United States, whom we
received kindly even though Gorostiza’s action had not been disavowed,
presented the answer of his government. Instead of the document officially
transmitted by Greenhow, an obsolete, incomplete and necessarily
inaccurate list of our claims, obtained nobody knows how, had been used;
only four of our fifty-seven living cases had even been considered; and not
one of these had been disposed of. Accordingly, when our Congress
assembled in December, 1837, the Executive laid the whole subject before
it anew, analyzed Mexico’s evasive reply—so different from what had been
solemnly promised—announced that fresh outrages of a serious and
exasperating sort had been committed, and plainly intimated that no hope of
a peaceful settlement could be entertained. Evidently the patience of the
United States had nearly come to an end; but before Congress was ready to
act, Martínez proposed a scheme of arbitration, which—though formally
decided upon by Mexico in May, 1837—it had apparently been her
deliberate purpose to hold in reserve until all other dilatory tactics should
have been exhausted.[35]
Naturally our government hesitated to adopt a plan
ARBITRATION
AGREED UPON which, as the British representative at Mexico wrote
when he heard of it, was precisely the one to “gratify the
favourite object” of our debtors—“the gaining of time and postponement of
the day of reckoning”; but in April, 1838, quite unlike France and much to
the surprise of Mexico, we accepted arbitration, and it then appeared that
Martínez had no powers to act in the matter. For months, indeed, although

our consul at Mexico was assuring that government of our fair and friendly
disposition, he did not receive them.[36]
In September, 1838, however, a convention was signed. Martínez stated that
it would not have to be ratified by the Congress of his country, but her
President ruled otherwise, and then with an extremely poor excuse did not
submit it. So the time limit arrived; and, to the intense disgust of our people
and administration, the agreement lapsed. The poor excuse was accepted by
our government, however, and in April, 1839, after two years had thus been
frittered away, another convention was made, providing that each country
should name two commissioners, and the king of Prussia select a fifth
person to be an umpire; and as Mexico disavowed Gorostiza’s conduct in
circulating the offensive pamphlet, our patience appeared to be rewarded.
[37]

In the opinion of Pakenham, British minister at Mexico, the arbitration
arrangement was “a very fortunate circumstance” for the debtor nation, and
one that she ought to observe scrupulously; but the minister of relations,
without even a poor excuse, failed to consider seriously the appointment of
commissioners until a few days before the treaty required them to be in
Washington, and consequently the agreement expired. Mexico, however,
could not well take advantage of this fact; the United States waived it; and
on August 25, 1840, nearly two and a half years after we had accepted
arbitration, the joint commission was organized. The representatives of
Mexico were Señores Castillo and León, one of whom, being unfamiliar
with business, fell under the control of his colleague, while the other was
described by Pakenham as conspicuously dishonest. In eighteen months
from that date, according to the treaty, the labors of this body were to end.
To kill time was, therefore, to kill claims—or at any rate bury them.[38]
When the subject of the commission was discussed in 1838, Forsyth took
the ground that it would be a judicial body, guided solely by the evidence
before it; and this principle was apparently accepted as fundamental.
Webster, now the secretary of state, pointed out that it was essentially and
necessarily such a tribunal. The Mexican commissioners, however, had
been ordered to act, not freely according to the evidence, but according to
the instructions of their government; and moreover they promptly refused to
let the claimants present themselves either in person, by attorney or in
writing. Some four months were spent in discussing objections raised by

them, and finally, in order to get something done, the American
representatives found it necessary to give way. Yet the sailing was not
smooth even then. Castillo and León resorted not only to dilatory tactics
and unfair methods, but even to express falsehood; and their government
violated in a signal manner one of the most fundamental stipulations of the
treaty. In short, if we may believe the apparently fair statement of the
American commissioners, the Mexicans caused delays that prevented the
adjustment of claims amounting to more than five millions, and pursued a
course in general that excited great indignation throughout this country.
Meanwhile, as our philo-Mexican minister, Thompson, reported, “The
rights of American Citizens of every grade and character” were still
subjected to “constant outrage.”[39]
In spite of everything, however, some two millions—in
MEXICAN
EVASIONS 1841 a substantial amount—were awarded, and at once
Mexico set at work to devise a scheme for evading the
obligation. Urgent advice from the British minister discouraged this plan,
however; and finally a new convention was made in January, 1843,
expressly for the convenience of our debtor, by which the amount with
interest was to be paid within five years, counted from the following April,
in equal quarterly instalments of cash. “Such indulgent terms,” was
Pakenham’s description of the arrangement. Both governments ratified it;
and so after these many years of patience and effort on the one side, evasion
and sometimes dishonesty on the other, compensation for a portion of our
grievances began to be received. But—after all, Mexico paid only three
instalments. At that point she broke her word, and stopped.[40]
For her course in this matter there seem to be only two conceivable excuses;
her embarrassed condition and her irritation over the Texas affair. With
reference to these it must be said that her condition was itself inexcusable,
and at the utmost did not incapacitate her for doing all that we demanded;
while her irritation was essentially unfounded, and, even had it been
reasonable, would not have justified her making promises and agreements
only to break them, or resorting in other ways to dishonorable methods.[41]

IV
THE RELATIONS BETWEEN THE UNITED
STATES
AND MEXICO
1843–1846

In 1843 our decisive difficulty with Mexico began to take shape. The
annexation of Texas to the United States was on legal, moral and political
grounds entirely legitimate. That republic had defied the arms of the
mother-country for nine years. It was recognized as an independent nation
by the leading commercial powers of the world; and no well-informed
person, even in Mexico, dreamed that it would return to its former
connection. To be sure, her pretensions were asserted in 1845 as loudly as
ever; but she made them ridiculous by declaring that never, under any
circumstances, would the independence of her rebellious daughter be
conceded. Besides, Mexico had practically acquiesced in the recognition of
Texas by our own and other governments; and, in view of this fact, as good
a lawyer and statesman as Daniel Webster, though opposed to incorporating
that country in the Union, held that our doing it gave Mexico no ground of
complaint.[1]
Annexation was therefore permissible, and grave
TEXAS
ANNEXED national interests of the United States appeared to
JUSTLY demand the step. All northern Mexico, including
California, seemed liable to secede, for the people of
that whole region felt profoundly dissatisfied with the administration of
their national affairs, and realized the urgent need of a strong and orderly
government; there was reason to believe that Sam Houston, the President of
Texas, thought of organizing under European auspices a southwestern
empire, absorbing Oregon, and thus offsetting the United States; as A. J.
Donelson, our minister in Texas at that period, wrote in 1848, “He was not
mistaken. This he could have done”; and in that event we should have had a
bold, ambitious rival in the rear. The anti-slavery agitation in the United

States led many of our southern citizens to long for separation and a union
with slaveholding Texas. The possibilities of Texan cotton production,
stimulated by the English, who were eager to be independent of the
American fields, were keenly dreaded. The logic of the situation seemed
likely to render Texas not only a commercial and industrial competitor and
a rancorous political enemy, but a source of dangerous complications with
Mexico, England and France. Finally, the British, who possessed a powerful
influence in her councils and in those of Mexico, were deliberately
endeavoring to shape matters in such a way as to do very serious harm, it
was believed, to the interests of the United States. Under such conditions no
one could reasonably complain because we undertook, employing as means
only argument and persuasion, to acquire that important and valuable
territory, and ward off these apparently imminent dangers. Albert Gallatin,
who opposed our taking the step, wrote later that it was “both expedient and
natural, indeed ultimately unavoidable.”[1]
No doubt it was quite natural that Mexico should take offence. To see a
handful of poor farmers, nearly all of them foreigners by birth, rebel against
their national government, appropriate a large portion of the nation’s
territory, rout its army, capture its President, establish a working political
system, and gain recognition abroad, had been fearfully trying. To believe,
not only on the authority of every Mexican leader but on that of many
Europeans and some eminent Americans, that all this loss and chagrin were
largely, if not wholly, due to the machinations of a neighbor, allied to
Mexico by a treaty of amity and constantly professing friendship, was
harder yet. And now to find those Texans, recently so eager to escape from
all outside control, preparing as if by a preconcerted understanding to join
that seemingly perfidious and aggressive nation, carrying their invaluable
territories with them, and bringing its frontier to the very bank of the Rio
Grande—this was certainly enough to make any citizen, ignorant of the
natural steps by which it had really come about and quite unable to
understand American ways, boil with rage. But the United States had
labored to explain the affair to Mexico, and was not responsible for her
blindness.
For a number of reasons Mexico had anticipated the final outcome of the
Texan difficulties, and on August 23, 1843, Bocanegra, her secretary of
relations, addressed our minister on the subject. The conduct of the United

States regarding that province, he wrote, has “appeared to afford grounds
for doubting the sincerity and frankness” of the American authorities, and
therefore, while hoping that the republic founded by Washington may be
saved “from stain and dishonor,” we announce hereby, “that the Mexican
Government will consider equivalent to a declaration of war against the
Mexican Republic the passage of an act [by the American Congress] for the
incorporation of Texas with the territory of the United States; the certainty
of the fact being sufficient for the immediate proclamation of war.” Such a
note was of course decidedly offensive to the honor of this nation. Even
Thompson felt compelled to be indignant.[2]
The following November Almonte, who then represented Mexico at
Washington, informed our secretary of state that should Congress and the
Executive decide upon annexation, he should consider his mission at an
end. “My country,” he stated, “is resolved to declare war as soon as it
receives information of such an act.” In reply, Upshur asserted rather
sharply the right of the United States to regard Texas as an independent
nation; but early in 1844 he talked the matter over with Almonte in a very
frank and amicable way, and the Mexican minister concurred substantially
in the annexation policy of our government. The next spring, however, he
formally repeated the protests of August and November, 1843.[3]
Probably to gain time and if possible lead us on to
THE UNITED
STATES acknowledge in some way the claim of Mexico,
CONCILIATORY Almonte encouraged Calhoun, who had succeeded
Upshur as the secretary of state, to believe that his
government, looking upon Texas as lost, would accept a pecuniary
consideration in order to minimize the misfortune; and about the middle of
April, 1844, a “bearer of despatches” named Thompson left Washington
with certain instructions from the secretary of state to B. E. Green, our
chargé at Mexico. These directed him to inform the Mexican government
that, while intending no disrespect and feeling an “anxious desire” to
maintain friendly relations, the United States had been compelled by a
regard for our own security to negotiate a treaty for the annexation of Texas
without reaching a previous understanding with it, but had borne its attitude
in mind, and was now ready to adjust all difficulties—particularly that of
the boundary, which had purposely been left an open question—“on the
most liberal and satisfactory terms.”[4]

Thompson landed at Vera Cruz on May 14, and proceeded at once to call on
President Santa Anna, then at one of his estates near the coast. He next went
on to the capital, and in company with Green had a conference with the
acting President, who was, of course, entirely under Santa Anna’s control.
No good results followed, however, and Calhoun’s overture for an amicable
adjustment of the Texan difficulty, which Green presented officially in a
note, was rejected by the Cabinet. The United States, Bocanegra pretended
in his reply, though it had injured and outraged Mexico by taking steps
toward annexation, had now recognized her claim to the territory; and he
not only refused to make any concession, but formally repeated the
declaration of August 23. He then placed the Texas affair before the
diplomatic corps at Mexico; an unsuccessful attempt was made to obtain
from Bankhead, the British minister, some hint of aid against the United
States; Almonte received orders to persist in his protests; the newspapers,
taking their cue from a journal under the President’s direct control, broke
out into what Bankhead characterized as “the most violent strain of
invective against the proposed annexation”; and Santa Anna himself,
assuming the reins of government, called for 30,000 men and a large sum of
money.[5]
It is thus clear that while our government positively and rightfully denied
the claims of Mexico to any legal ownership of Texas, it showed—even to
the extent of imprudence—a kindly regard for her feelings and a
willingness to make her, under cover of adjusting the boundary, a
substantial present; and it is equally clear that our overture, instead of being
received in a friendly or even a candid manner, was twisted and
misrepresented, and was used by Santa Anna not only to advance his
personal interests, but even to feed the prevalent hostility against the United
States and increase the danger of war. Of course Mexico had a perfect right
to repulse our advances, but her method of procedure in the case was
unjustifiable.
Meanwhile, from a variety of causes, among which the merits of the
question had but a small place, the treaty of annexation failed in our Senate,
and the Texans, who had given offence to England, France and especially
Mexico by accepting the overture of our Executive, found themselves not
only slighted by the United States but ferociously menaced by Santa Anna,
and seemed likely, in their resentment and peril, to swing quite beyond our

reach—presumably under the shield of England. To counteract this
tendency somewhat and in a measure safeguard Texas against the dangers
we had brought upon her, Calhoun sent a bold and even audacious despatch
to the American representative at Mexico. The United States, he said, is
responsible for the annexation treaty, and upon us, not upon Texas, the
wrath of Mexico should be visited; moreover the matter of acquiring that
territory, which it has long been our policy to do, is pending still, and for
that reason, as well as on the score of humanity, we could not allow the
question to be decided by fierce Mexican threats of brutal hostilities; Texas
is to be treated as an independent power; but should annexation be
consummated, the United States will be ready to settle most liberally all
resulting difficulties.[6]
In October, 1844, our minister gave the substance of this despatch to the
Mexican government; and soon the talented, energetic and audacious Rejón,
the successor of Bocanegra, sent him in reply a long but not wearisome
review of the Texas affair, that was absolutely a masterpiece in its class.
Truths, managed so as to give a wrong impression, clever half-truths and
flat falsehoods were skilfully combined, and at last the United States
appeared to stand in the dock as a confessed perjurer and thief awaiting
sentence. As for Calhoun’s intervening now between Mexico and a handful
of rebels, protested Rejón, that could not be tolerated, unless every nation
that so chose might fill neighboring territory with its people, incite them to
revolt, aid them to resist, and finally offer them annexation. Our minister,
Shannon, who had been a useful Democratic stump-speaker in Ohio,
blustered, blundered, threatened and undertook to argue, but only drew
from Rejón a still more insulting letter, and still more embittered the feeling
in both countries.[7]
At the beginning of March, 1845, our President signed the joint resolution
of Congress which provided for the annexation of Texas. Almonte, the
Mexican minister, at once protested, giving notice that his country would
maintain the claim to her ancient province “at all times, by every means ...
in her power”; and although James Buchanan, who now became secretary
of state under Polk, replied in a conciliatory manner, Almonte broke off
diplomatic relations and left our shores. At Mexico the news produced a
tremendous commotion, heightened by the report from California that a
revolution, decided by the American settlers, had occurred in that

department. War at once and war to the knife! cried the press in concert;
while the administration, in a note moderated by the British and French
ministers yet sufficiently positive, severed official relations with Shannon,
and insisted upon this policy even after receiving a conciliatory reply from
him. By the action of Mexico there was, therefore, a complete rupture
between the two countries.[8]
When it was learned, about the middle of July, that our
MEXICO
PREPARES FOR terms of annexation had been accepted by Texas, passion
WAR burst forth again. The leash of Mexican eloquence and
fury broke. “August Houses! President of the Republic!”
cried El Amigo del Pueblo, “The hour of danger for the country has sounded
and she has a right to look to you for salvation. Union and war!” Not
merely Texas but all Mexico, the people were told, had been marked as its
prey by American greed. In order to save itself before the public the
administration, though at heart averse to hostilities, proposed to Congress a
declaration of war. Money was asked from the Chambers, and full quotas of
troops were summoned from the departments; and by the end of the month,
as the agent of our government duly reported, the course of things pointed
strongly toward hostilities. The archives of Vera Cruz were carried to the
interior; new guns were mounted in the fortress there; steps were taken to
raise a loan of fifteen millions; munitions and provisions were said to be
going as rapidly as possible to Matamoros; and much was heard about the
movements of troops. At the end of July the ministers of Mexico at London
and Paris were notified that an appeal to arms would be made. August 8 the
Mexican consulate at New Orleans closed; and a few days later our consul
at Havana reported that his Mexican colleague had received an official
notification of the existence of war.[9]
To be sure, no public declaration to that effect appeared, but there were
good reasons for considering this fact unimportant. With Spanish-American
subtlety the Mexicans discovered that the threat of August 23, 1843,
repeated later, had rendered such an announcement unnecessary, and that it
would be shrewder to hold that by annexing Texas we had declared war
upon them, since they would then be free to attack or defer attacking us, as
might seem expedient. Besides, it was argued, Texas was merely a
rebellious province, and hence Mexico could make war there at will,
without giving us an excuse for opening hostilities against her seaboard,

and without enabling us to seize territory by the right of belligerency.
Consequently, as large forces had been ordered to the north, a move across
the Rio Grande at any hour seemed more than possible; and the official
journal urged, that it should be effected at the earliest practicable moment,
in order to prevent the United States from occupying the territory, and
making ready there for hostilities.[10]
The American government, on the other hand, undertook
OUR EFFORTS TO
RESTORE to restore friendly relations. The official assurances of
INTERCOURSE good-will given Almonte were supplemented by private
representations conveyed to him through a mutual friend
by a member of our Cabinet; and Polk took also a step of much greater
importance. Before the end of March W. S. Parrott was appointed a
confidential agent of our state department, and ordered to reach Mexico,
which had long been his place of residence, by the quickest route. Try to
convince the Mexican government, ran his instructions, that it is truly for
the interest of that country, “to restore friendly relations between the two
republics.” If it is found willing, you may reveal your official character, and
say that the United States will send a “Minister” on learning that he will be
kindly received. The annexation of Texas cannot be undone; but “you are at
liberty to state your confident belief that in regard to all unsettled questions,
we are prepared to meet Mexico in a most liberal and friendly spirit.”[11]
Thus commissioned, Parrott sought his post without delay, renewed his
acquaintance with members of the Mexican Congress, invited them
frequently to lunch or dinner, and talked, no doubt in the spirit of his
instructions, with all such influential persons as he could reach. In
particular, as he reported, he was “very precise in stating, that the
Government of the United States could never recognize in Mexico the right
to claim an indemnity for the annexation of Texas to the American Union;
but that, in a treaty of limits, for the sake of peace and good neighborhood,
the United States would, no doubt, be disposed, as had been officially
stated, to meet Mexico, in a negotiation, upon the most friendly and liberal
terms.” No explanation could have been clearer.[12]
There were good reasons for anticipating a favorable result from this
overture. President Herrera, connected by marriage with a leading American
merchant at the capital, was an honest, reasonable and patriotic citizen; and,
knowing that hostilities with the United States would at best involve many

costly sacrifices, and would very likely throw California into our hands, he
desired to escape by some method from his public action in favor of war. It
was altogether possible, too, that a reverse on the field might upset his
administration and injure his friends; and, since the movement that had
placed him in power had cost money, his backers, in order to be repaid, felt
anxious to curtail instead of increasing the military expenses. Moreover
there was trouble with both England and France at this time; the more
intelligent part of the nation, cooling a little, were beginning to perceive the
advantages of a peaceful settlement with us; a chance could be seen that in
the end such a policy, reducing the cost of government, would become
popular; and finally it was realized that unless money to pay the troops were
obtained from the United States, their fickle allegiance probably could not
be retained. Accordingly on August 29, 1845, Parrott reported that in his
opinion an envoy from this country would be heartily welcomed; almost at
the same time Black, our consul at Mexico, and Dimond, our consul at Vera
Cruz, expressed the same view; and private advices tended to confirm these
opinions.[13]
Our own reasons for wishing to have diplomatic intercourse restored were
almost equal in strength to Herrera’s. Aside from the political and
commercial interests that had always led us to seek the friendship of
Mexico, we desired to collect the unpaid instalments of our awards,
prosecute our claims, guard our citizens residing in that country, adjust the
Texan difficulty, counteract prejudicial movements on the part of European
states, and cultivate the good-will of the Central and South American
peoples, who were sure to be influenced by the sentiments of their kindred
next us. In particular, only two or three months later Guizot’s idea of
establishing a balance of power in this hemisphere was exciting alarm in
Congress; and there is reason to believe that our Executive, already aware
of it, desired the support of Mexico in opposing a design so un-American.
Besides, Polk felt sure that European governments had an eye upon
California, and a minister was needed at the Mexican capital to prevent, if
possible, any bargaining on the subject.[14]
Even more important, there were signs that a monarchy headed by a
European prince might be set up in Mexico, involving dangerous
interference in our commercial and political relations with that country, sure
to increase the gravity of a military contest, should one arise, and seriously

attacking the “Monroe Doctrine.” As early as 1838 our consul at Mexico
reported that Alamán and the conservatives were laboring to establish a
monarchy. In 1840 Estrada, one of the ablest and best of their statesmen,
was denounced for openly advocating the change. Paredes, now at the head
of the army, had favored it for years, and in 1841 had initiated a movement
in that direction. In January, 1845, two agents of the Spanish government
were said to be laboring in Mexico for the same cause, and the Memorial
Histórico announced that Spain, France and England had formed an alliance
to set up a new government there. At about the same time the Picayune
stated that official documents relating to the monarchical scheme had been
received at New Orleans; and early in March our diplomatic representative
at London sounded a strong note of warning.[15]
To reinforce all these considerations, England and France felt deeply
offended at our absorption of Texas; Polk, who believed “that no
compromise [in the Oregon affair] to which Great Britain would accede,
could pass the Senate,” now regarded a peaceful adjustment of that
controversy as impossible; and Mexico, though as a rule profoundly
influenced by the policy of England, might any day take offence at some
British move, and wish to approach the United States. For these reasons it
was of great importance to have a diplomatic agent near her government
ready to take advantage of any promising turn; and, finally, one can easily
imagine that in Polk’s opinion the reception of a United States minister
would of itself, aside from what he might do, render it more difficult for
Mexico to maintain her unfriendly attitude.[16]
Accordingly the letters of Parrott, Black and Dimond
SLIDELL
DESPATCHED AS were promptly taken up by the American Cabinet, and
MINISTER after a thorough discussion of the subject it was
unanimously agreed, although the rupture had been
caused by Mexico, to reopen diplomatic relations with her; to keep this
intention profoundly secret, lest European ministers at Washington should
thwart our aims; to despatch as minister John Slidell of Louisiana, an
agreeable man, able lawyer and excellent Spanish scholar—just the sort of
person most likely to gain the ear of Mexico—and to pay as much as forty
millions, if necessary, for a satisfactory boundary. The next day, however,
Polk learned that Mexico had been taking warlike steps as late as August
21. It was therefore concluded, in order to make sure that our envoy would

not be rejected, to wait a little for news, and meantime instruct Black to
ascertain “officially” whether a “Minister” would be received. No further
action on the part of the Mexican government appeared necessary to restore
friendly intercourse, for previously, after the withdrawal of a legation, the
broken thread had been mended by sending a new representative. Nothing
less than such action would have answered our purpose, for only a
diplomatic agent of the usual kind, residing near that government, could
have handled the existing problems. In consequence exactly this, without
qualification or ambiguity, was proposed.[17]
Just at this point a new factor appeared. The British, holding a great amount
of Mexican bonds, enjoying a very profitable trade in that quarter, and not
at all anxious to see us extend our territory by conquest, did not wish
Mexico to challenge the United States; and early in October Bankhead
expressed a desire to confer with Peña y Peña, her secretary of relations,
concerning the situation. This offer was cordially accepted; and, at an
interview between these gentlemen and the President, Herrera said that the
“subjects” which an American envoy might bring up would be discussed
“with every disposition to terminate them amicably.” Moreover, after
frequent conversations and a second formal interview, Peña thanked
Bankhead most gratefully in writing for offering to use his influence with
Pakenham, now the British minister at Washington, “for the purpose of
amicably arranging the differences [las diferencias]” existing between the
United States and Mexico, and intimated plainly that Herrera would listen
to any “proposals” coming from the American government.[18]
To suppose that such men, discussing a matter of so
SLIDELL’S
MISSION much gravity, would not in the course of numerous
UNDERSTOOD conversations take up its most obvious and most
BY MEXICO important aspects would be absurd. These must have
been considered, and Bankhead reported that not only
the annexation of Texas but “the other points of difference, such as Limits
and Indemnity,” were to come up, and in particular he understood that
whatever sum the United States might agree to pay would be “much
reduced by claims arising out of the Convention [of 1839] ... and by others
since created.” Such was Polk’s view. The questions of boundary
compensation and claims compensation, he said, “naturally and inseparably
blended”; and the former existed only as a consequence of annexation. To

suppose after the United States and Mexico had so long and beautifully
illustrated the scene on Keats’s Greek vase—we forever pursuing and she
forever eluding us—that we should hand over to her a large sum without
first ascertaining and subtracting the just value of our claims, would have
been ridiculous. Moreover our claims counted prominently among the
“differences” existing between the two governments, and without a definite
adjustment of them a complete settlement and restoration of harmony, such
as this plan aimed expressly to accomplish, was impossible.[19]
At this point, however, Bankhead’s agency ended, for another superseded it.
On October 13, after having gone over the matter informally with Peña,
Consul Black at the minister’s request wrote a confidential letter to him, in
which he quoted the following language from his instructions: Ascertain
from the Mexican government whether it will receive “an envoy from the
United States, intrusted with full power to adjust all the questions in dispute
between the two governments”; if so, he will be “immediately” despatched.
The secretary of relations now, if he had not already done so, laid this
matter before the President, and on the fifteenth he replied thus: My
government is “disposed to receive the representative [comisionado] of the
United States who may come to this capital with full powers from his
government to settle the present dispute [contienda] in a peaceful,
reasonable and honorable manner”; but, in order to eliminate every sign of
coercion, the American fleet must retire from Vera Cruz. This proposal was
sanctioned by the Mexican Congress in a secret session.[20]
Now the American proposition contemplated “all the questions in dispute,”
while Peña said in reply, “the present dispute.” But this was apparently an
immaterial variation in phraseology, such as is customary with men of
independent minds. In the first place, it is an axiom that a whole includes all
of its parts, and the American claims were, as we have just observed, an
essential feature of the dispute between the two countries. In the second
place we know that Bankhead so understood the matter. In the third place
this mere difference in phraseology certainly did not indicate with any
clearness a rejection of the American proposal and the substitution of an
essentially different one, and, if so intended, it involved an ambiguity for
which Mexico was bound to pay the penalty. Fourthly, Black’s note was the
sequel to a confidential interview with Peña held expressly for a free
comparison of ideas. Now the consul must have understood the unvarying

refusal of the United States to recognize any Mexican claim to Texas, and
therefore he could see that no envoy would be appointed by us to treat
directly and exclusively regarding the annexation of that republic. His
instructions, moreover, were perfectly distinct; and his understanding of
these matters would have been corrected, had correction been required, by
Parrott, with whom he was ordered to confer. If, then, it had appeared in his
preliminary conversation with Peña that Mexico insisted upon rejecting the
American overture and substituting an essentially different and essentially
unacceptable proposition, he would have stopped at that point, and reported
in substance that Polk’s offer was declined. There would have been no
occasion to address the note of October 13 to Peña. In other words the
American offer was understood, and it was fairly and squarely met.
Herrera’s government desired earnestly, as Peña showed Bankhead, to bring
about such a complete settlement as Polk had in mind, and to that end it
accepted our overture.[21]
But there is another point worthy of notice. The word comisionado used by
Peña—the past participle, employed here as a noun, of the verb “to
commission”—has usually been translated “commissioner,” and hence it
has often been urged by American writers, that he did not agree to receive a
minister. But by good fortune we have a definition of that word from a
Mexican secretary of relations. “A comisionado,” wrote Bocanegra, “is a
person charged by any community, or private citizen to conduct any
business,” and this definition obviously included ministers. On comparing
the documents we find minister, envoy, plenipotentiary and comisionado
used as equivalents; and Peña called Slidell a comisionado after learning
that he came as a resident minister. Besides, the title signified nothing
substantial, for the parties agreed that our agent should have full powers to
discuss the whole business in hand, and so it follows again that, for the
purpose of settling all the points of difference existing between the two
nations, Mexico agreed to receive an American minister. November 6 Polk
heard as much through Commodore Conner, then off Vera Cruz; and three
days later Parrott arrived with Peña’s autograph note, which was similarly
understood at the White House.[22]
For good reasons the President felt that no time could be wasted. It was a
critical juncture. The controversy with England over the possession of
Oregon had reached an acute stage, and our minister at London expressed

the opinion that she was trying to make use of Mexico in connection with it.
Our relations with Mexico had dragged long enough. If it is intended to do
anything, a New York merchant had written some time since to the
secretary of the navy, “no time should be lost in sending a person to
Mexico, as you can scarcely conceive the feverish excitement in our
mercantile community,” due to the dread of privateers. Herrera’s pacific
administration was tottering; and our consul at Vera Cruz warned the state
department to act promptly, since it might go down at any time. Paredes, the
monarchist, was known to be plotting a revolution; and the London Times,
then a journal of great importance, had pronounced emphatically for a
Spanish throne in Mexico as a bulwark against the United States, and had
said that it believed no European power would object. We had promised
through Black that a minister would be despatched “immediately,” if he
would be received; and Peña not only had made no objection to this, but
had shown impatience for his arrival. In anticipation of satisfactory news
from our consul, Slidell had been ordered to Pensacola, and instructions for
him drafted. By ten o’clock in the evening of November 10 these were
ready; Polk signed his commission; and Lieutenant Lanier of the navy set
out at once for Pensacola with the documents.[23]
“To counteract the influence of foreign Powers, exerted
SLIDELL’S
INSTRUCTIONS against the United States in Mexico, and to restore those
ancient relations of peace and good will which formerly
existed between the Governments and the citizens of the sister Republics,
will be the principal objects of your mission,” read Slidell’s instructions;
take up the subject of our claims “in a prudent and friendly spirit,” and
arrange through an adjustment of the Texas boundary to cast upon the
United States the burden of paying them; “exert all your energies” to
prevent the cession of California to England or France if it be contemplated,
and, if you can do so without endangering the restoration of amicable
relations with Mexico and the adjustment of the Texas boundary, endeavor
to purchase at least the northern part of California, including San Francisco
Bay, but at all events conciliate the good-will of the Mexicans, even should
their vanity and resentment prove trying. Fully in sympathy with
Buchanan’s instructions, the minister proceeded to Vera Cruz as quickly as
possible on a vessel of war, landed there by November 30, and, noting that
his way had already been paved by the retirement of our fleet, set out at
once for the capital.[24]

Unfortunately, though as prompt as possible, Polk had not been prompt
enough. Herrera’s administration, as we have learned, had now sunk to the
lowest point in courage, efficiency, prestige and sense of responsibility.
Every morning it looked for a revolution, and every night for a mutiny. Its
one idea was to hold on until the assembling of Congress on the first of
January, in the hope that something favorable might then occur; and it
found this last resource threatened by its reasonable and pacific policy in
regard to the United States. Earlier in the year it had been denounced for
agreeing to recognize Texas on the condition of her abandoning all thoughts
of joining the American Union, and now it was menaced for listening to
Black and Buchanan. A call for war in the name of honor, territory and
independence appeared to be a serviceable oriflamme for its political
enemies. Fierce, unsparing cries of treason, ignominy and national ruin
therefore assailed Herrera; and under these onslaughts the weak, timid,
irresolute administration lost heart.[25]
On December 3 Peña saw Black at the palace and exclaimed, We hear an
envoy has arrived from the United States; who can he be, and what has he
come for? The consul replied that he supposed he must be the envoy that
Mexico had agreed to receive. This ought not to be, answered Peña hastily;
no envoy was expected before January; we are not prepared to receive him;
the government desires he should not come to the capital or even
disembark; “you know the opposition are calling us traitors, for entering
into this arrangement with you;” his coming now might produce a fatal
revolution. This interview showed that before anything was known
regarding Slidell’s quality, credentials or instructions, and purely on account
of domestic politics, the government was anxious to break its agreement. So
Peña admitted later, for he privately sent word to Slidell that under the
circumstances it feared to compromise itself, and would have acted
otherwise had it been free. So the matter was understood by Bankhead; and
so it has been understood by fair-minded Mexican historians. It only
remained to contrive a method of evasion.[26]
The method adopted was to ask the council of state—a quite unnecessary
proceeding—whether it would be proper to receive Slidell. In so doing Peña
expressed a decided opinion in the negative, advancing, besides arguments
of no moment, the more serious objection that receiving a resident minister
would imply the existence of friendly relations between the two countries,

and would thus condone the annexation of Texas. Even this argument,
however, possessed no real value, for, as Peña recognized, Slidell was
explicitly commissioned to “restore” friendly relations, which indicated that
such relations could not exist until after he should be received and after he
should act; and, besides, Mexico could have received him with a declaration
of reserve, safeguarding all her claims. Moreover this was evidently a point,
if of any importance, which the secretary should have considered before
making the agreement.[27]
To avoid this last difficulty, he alleged in his desperation that Black had
proposed, and he accepted, the plan of sending merely an envoy ad hoc, a
special envoy commissioned to settle with Mexico for the annexation of
Texas. His assertion, however, is disproved by the circumstances and
correspondence leading to Slidell’s appointment; and a simple argument
reinforces the facts. For the United States to offer amends for annexation
would have been to deny its repeated protestations that annexation was
perfectly proper; would have been to brand upon its own forehead the
heinous charges drawn in vitriol by Rejón. Peña could see that no country
possessing the eyesight of a mole and the courage of a mouse would so
degrade itself. He knew, October 11, that on such a demand the negotiations
would end before beginning; would end at once in his study with Black’s
bidding him a respectful good-night; and since Herrera desired the
negotiations, he could not make such a proposition.[28]
Moreover the council of state, which was a permanent
SLIDELL
REJECTED body of notables, brushed aside this contention of
Peña’s, and fell back “on the very nature of the affair
and on the state of our relations (en la natureleza misma del negocio y en el
estado de nuestras relaciones).” Assuming plainly that the United States
desired to avoid war and restore friendly diplomatic and commercial
intercourse, it declared that we had set a trap [lazo] for Mexico, and
undertaken to introduce a regular minister under false pretences, as it were,
in order to compel her to be amicable against her will. In furtherance of this
design the promise of the Mexican administration cannot be urged, it
protested, for the intention must have been merely to let the Texas affair be
settled, as a preliminary to the restoration of cordial relations, and it would
be an “unexampled humiliation” were Mexico to receive a regular
American minister before being satisfied for the outrage and injury inflicted

upon her. In other words, Mexico had promised to receive Slidell, but it did
not comport with her interest and her dignity to fulfil the agreement. This
decision ensured his rejection. December 20 he was officially notified of it,
and in reply he wrote what seemed to him a spiritless note, explaining to
Buchanan that under his instructions he did not wish to make war inevitable
by closing the door finally to negotiations. This done, he withdrew as soon
as an escort could be obtained to the city of Jalapa, situated not far from the
coast on the Vera Cruz road, to await instructions.[29]
Daniel Webster, a lawyer of no mean abilities, formerly our secretary of
state, and at the time when he spoke a resolute opponent of Polk, said, after
mature consideration of the matter, that Mexico was “highly unjustifiable”
in thus refusing to hear our minister; and the demand upon this nation to
repudiate its protestations of honesty, and become the football of Mexican
party politics, did seem a bit unreasonable. As for Polk, it was hard indeed
to be charged with ruining by his awkward statesmanship the pacific
administration of Herrera, when in fact the inherent weakness of that
administration ruined his own hopes, and to be denounced in the United
States for trying to force war upon Mexico, when the Mexicans denounced
him for trying to force peace upon them.[30]
But Herrera’s amiable inefficiency was near its doom. The aristocratic
elements—Church, army and monarchists—drew together, and this action
forced the Santannistas and the Federalists to overlook their own
differences. Paredes, natural leader of the former combination, hated and
feared the latter, for Santa Anna had worsted him in more than one clash,
and the Federalists aimed not only to reform the Church and support
republican institutions, but also to destroy the military order by establishing
an effective militia system. Professing allegiance to the administration and
extorting from its hopes and fears of him all the money that could be
obtained, he disobeyed the orders to divide his army or march to the Texas
frontier; and about the middle of December, seeing that the Federalists were
likely to control the new Congress, he revolted. The relations of Mexico to
the United States afforded a battle-cry helpful to the army and hurtful to
Herrera’s administration; and hence the President was accused of “seeking
to avoid a necessary and glorious war” and of stooping to negotiate “the
ignominious loss of national integrity” with an American envoy.[31]

Herrera fulminated against the traitorous general who
HERRERA
OVERTHROWN was attacking his own country. Both houses of Congress
BY PAREDES fulminated. The city of Mexico and every department
fulminated. But all this was merely eloquence. The
officer despatched to require the immediate surrender of Paredes accepted a
seat in his carriage. Most of the commanders appointed to defend the capital
took their stations under pledges to the enemy. December 29, when Paredes
arrived within about a dozen miles of Mexico, the garrison of the citadel,
instigated by their chief officer, General Valencia, rose; nearly all the rest of
the forces at the capital soon followed that example; and Herrera, giving up
the Presidency without firing a gun, left the palace with the entire body of
his loyal officers and officials, his mild face and his respectable side-
whiskers—in one hired cab.[31]
The only danger of the revolutionary cause had been from treachery. Tornel
and many of the officers were at work for Santa Anna, and Valencia, whom
nobody would trust, was at work for himself. Paredes, resembling the one-
eyed man among the blind, had a certain reputation for honesty; and these
plotters, misled by his reiterated declarations that he would accept no office
in the new government, thought him simple enough to be used and then
thrown over. Valencia in particular, who was president of the council of
state and therefore legally the successor of Herrera, felt already triumphant,
put on regal style, and helped himself liberally to the public funds. But he
and Tornel had enabled Paredes to make himself independent of them, and
now found themselves dealing with a master instead of a dupe. The troops
at Mexico sided with the majority of the army, and Paredes notified
Valencia that he would shoot every one opposing him—“archbishop,
general, magistrate, or anybody else.” Then with military pomp,
accompanied by officials whose signatures adorned the placards
denouncing him, he took possession of Mexico, while the public, long since
weary of the incidental music of revolutionary professions, looked on in
silence.[31]
The classical farce of an electoral junta appointed by the victorious general
was now enacted, and Paredes became temporary President. Apparently,
however, he intended to use this ill-gotten power with integrity and force.
He drew no salary except that of a general, avoided all display, and
surrounded himself with men of the better class; and when a broker, who

had fattened on corrupt dealings with the government, offered him a loan,
he replied with blazing eyes, “I do not wish money, but I wish to prosecute
the robbers of the Treasury.” With equal firmness he took his promised
attitude of hostility toward the United States. On the fourth of January he
swore publicly to defend the integrity of the national territory; and this had
reference to Texas—every foot of Texas to the Sabine—for such was the
unqualified claim of Mexico.[31]
With a government based upon a pledge of war against us and swearing to
carry out that pledge, it seemed as if the United States could have no
amicable dealings; but our authorities were now accustomed to forbear, and
all the reasons for desiring a restoration of diplomatic intercourse were still
in force. Indeed, one of them had become pressingly urgent, for the
European monarchical scheme appeared now to be unmistakable. Remain
in Mexico, Buchanan therefore instructed Slidell, so as to take advantage of
any opening for negotiations; if you deem it wise to do so, let Paredes know
that his financial straits can be relieved by arranging matters with us;
present another formal request for a hearing, and make “every honorable
effort” in your power to avoid a rupture.[32]
Accordingly, on the first day of March, 1846, our
SLIDELL MAKES
ANOTHER minister addressed a letter to Castillo, the new minister
EFFORT of relations, summarizing the negotiations with Peña,
placing clearly in view the alternatives of diplomacy or
war as they had now been defined, and asking to be received. Again the
council of state was consulted, and again this oracle pronounced for
rejection. Castillo then tried to frame a reply to Slidell; but his note, drafted
in opposition to his own ideas, proved so weak and halting that he laid it
before the Spanish minister. In the view of this diplomat the best solution of
the imbroglio seemed to be European arbitration, and therefore he probably
thought it well to show the United States that we could reach no
understanding with Mexico ourselves. It was also desirable to rally the
nation round Paredes by assuming a bold, aggressive tone. And a fiery,
offensive note, suited to these conditions, rejected the second American
overture.[33]
Here stands an American minister, answered Slidell, “clothed with full
power to settle all the questions in dispute between the two nations.”
Begone, said Mexico once more.[34]

V
THE MEXICAN ATTITUDE ON THE EVE OF
WAR
In tracing the mutual relations of the United States and Mexico, we have
often had occasion to note how each nation felt about the other and about a
possible conflict; but it is very desirable now to understand as completely as
possible what those feelings were at about the beginning of 1846, and this
will require the consideration of many additional facts.
Already there were influential and wealthy Mexicans, particularly in the
north, who wished or half-wished that the United States would subjugate
their country, so that order and prosperity might come; and others reflected
that at least our assistance might be desired, should Paredes undertake to set
up a European monarchy. But these were selfish calculations. They seldom
implied good-will. Friends we have none at the capital, Slidell reported; and
our consul at the northern city of Tampico, even though but a faint loyalty
to the central government prevailed in that section, wrote in September,
1845: “The most stubborn and malignant feeling seems to exist in the mind
of every Mexican against the United States.”[1]

WHY MEXICO
The principal cause of this feeling—the supposed
DISLIKED THE misconduct of our government in the settlement,
UNITED STATES revolution and successful resistance of Texas, and in the
recognition and annexation of that republic—has already
been explained; but other strong reasons coöperated. All understood that
intense dissatisfaction existed in the northern departments. Now that our
frontier had been advanced so far south, further peaceful aggression seemed
easy; and it was believed that we intended to pursue the Texas method
progressively, until all of Mexico should little by little become ours. “This
first invasion is the threat of many more,” said the official journal. It was
alleged that we, fearing the competition of that country in the markets of the
world, did all we could to hinder its agricultural, industrial and commercial
development, and excited the revolutions that paralyzed it; and it was even

believed that we incited the Indians to ravage the northern frontiers, and so
create discontent against the central government. The privileged classes
dreaded the influence of our democratic ideas. The clergy were afraid that
Protestantism, or at least free thought, might cross the border, and that so
far as Mexican territory should fall under our sway, secular education, the
confiscation of their property, and the other anti-clerical plans of the
Federalists, who appeared to draw their inspiration and their arguments
largely from this country, might be put into force. The numerous
misunderstandings and clashes with the United States that we have noted
had produced an enduring resentment, and in particular our claims and our
efforts to have them settled were commonly deemed artificial and unjust.[1]
Behind all these facts lay the general anti-foreign prejudice; and this, we
should now observe, was in our case more than a prejudice. Even in the
eyes of the intelligent El Siglo XIX, an American was “a being detestable to
the nation on account of the little accord between [him and] the religion, the
language, and the gentle, affable, frank, and generous character of the
Mexican.” Our directness of thought, speech and action, and the
brusqueness of manner that naturally accompanied it appeared
inconsiderate and haughty; and no doubt, in dealing with people who
seemed to us deceitful, unreliable and unfriendly, our citizens often
emphasized these characteristics. In habits and customs there was indeed a
profound unlikeness, and below this lay a still more profound racial
antagonism. Finally the politicians of all parties, fearing to be outdone in
the display of patriotism, encouraged the anti-American feeling. The sharp
and rancorous Tornel used every opportunity to speak against us; and Santa
Anna, whose prestige was immense—it must not be forgotten—as late as
1844, both fearing the influence of our freedom and wishing his fellow-
citizens to consider him essential, represented the United States as a
Minotaur eager to devour them. Few were enlightened enough to correct the
misconceptions regarding us; no one had the power, courage or wish to do
so; and in the end, very naturally, these dominated the public mind—or, to
be more precise, created and kept alive a general impression. Americans
“scarcely have the look of men,” it was gravely asserted.[1]
In regard to an immediate conflict in arms with us, Mexico by no means felt
like the dove threatened by a hawk, as people in this country have generally
supposed. To be sure, the national existence was often said to be in danger,

but such talk was largely for effect. Castillo asserted that Slidell had been
sent in order to obtain a pretext for war; but this was in all probability a bid
for Mexican and European support, since he knew that we already had
grounds enough, and the council of state evidently believed we did not seek
a conflict. Paredes whispered to the British minister at a banquet, “I hope
your government does not mean to let us be eaten up;” but this was a plea
for English assistance. As we have just said, not American arms but
American settlers were the chief danger, in the opinion of Mexico. The very
men who clamored that the national existence was threatened by the United
States were the ones who called most loudly for war. A circular to the local
authorities issued by the central government in December, 1845, invited
attention to the prevailing opinion that armed resistance could prevent
further usurpations like that of Texas; and another such paper, issued in
November of the following year, dwelt strongly upon this point. From
military force also there was danger, to be sure. Our superiority in numbers
and resources was admitted. But there were many offsets to that superiority,
and the Mexicans closely studied and shrewdly counted upon them.[2]
Let us review those offsets. In the first place, while the
THE UNITED
STATES DEEMED government of the United States deemed its course
FEEBLE honorable and considerate, in the eyes of many, if not
all, Mexicans we had been abject as well as knavish,
stealing her territory and then trying to buy off her anger, submitting to be
gulled, flouted and lashed, and each time going back for more of the same
treatment; and it seemed hardly possible that we should suddenly adopt a
bold, positive, unflinching course. It was even believed that we dreaded to
enter the lists. Almonte, for example, in reporting that his protest against
annexation had caused a heavy fall on the stock exchange, observed, “The
fears of a war with Mexico are great;” and it was notorious that his
departure from the United States created almost a panic in our money
market.[3]
Besides, it was assumed that party feeling would go to about the same
lengths here as in Mexico, and that our differences over the slavery question
and the tariff would probably make it impossible for us to conduct a war
vigorously—perhaps, impossible to wage it at all. “The northern states, I
again repeat to you, will not aid those of the south in case of war with
Mexico,” wrote Almonte while minister at Washington in June, 1844.

European journals like Le Constitutionnel of Paris confirmed this opinion;
[4] and the London Times remarked, It would be a war, not of the United
States, but of a party that has only a bare majority, and “odious” to a “large
and enlightened minority in the best States.” Moreover, argued the official
journal of Mexico, the injustice of the war would of itself excite American
opposition.[5]
From a military as well as a political point of view this country seemed
feeble. Our regular army was understood to be numerically insignificant
and fully occupied with frontier and garrison duties; our artillery appeared
weak in quality as well as in numbers; and our cavalry was deemed little
more than a cipher. As for volunteers, our citizen-soldiers were represented
in Mexico not merely as unwarlike, but as “totally unfit to operate beyond
their frontiers.” Indeed, as competent a judge as Captain Elliot, British
minister in Texas—who knew the United States well, and in the spring of
1845 was in close touch with Mexican leaders at their capital—said that the
greater their number, the greater would be the difficulty of invading
Mexico. “They could not resist artillery and cavalry in a Country suited to
those arms,” he believed; “they are not amenable to discipline, they plunder
the peasantry, they are without steadiness under reverses, they cannot march
on foot.” Nor did there exist in this country, added Elliot, either aptitude or
adequate means for a regular military invasion.[6]
“America as an aggressive power is one of the weakest in the world ... fit
for nothing but to fight Indians,” declared Britannia, an important English
weekly; and apparently the war of 1812, to which the Mexicans referred
with peculiar satisfaction, had proved even more than this. The military
operations in a war between Mexico and the United States would be
“contemptible and indecisive,” said the London Times. As for our navy, it
was undoubtedly small; the Mexican consul at New Orleans reported that it
lacked the discipline commonly attributed to it; and, however efficient it
might really be, Mexico had no commerce to attack.[7]
The Mexicans, on the other hand, were deemed by many observers
decidedly formidable. “There are no better troops in the world, nor better
drilled and armed, than the Mexicans,” asserted Calderón de la Barca, the
Spanish minister at Washington; and some of the generals were thought,
even by foreigners, equal to the most renowned in Europe. The Americans
would be at a vast disadvantage, was Captain Elliot’s opinion, “in rapidity

of movement” and ability to endure “continued fatigue on the hardest
food.” The soldiers of the tri-color “are superior to those of the United
States,” declared the Mexico correspondent of the London Times flatly in
1845.[8]
If the military power of Mexico was rated in this way by
MEXICAN
CALCULATIONS outside observers of such competence, one can imagine
OF THE how it was rated at home. The Mexicans regarded
CHANCES themselves as martial by instinct, and viewed their
troops, inured to war by an almost unceasing course of
revolutions, as remarkably good. Santa Anna once boasted that, if
necessary, he would plant his flag upon the capitol at Washington; and the
results of the wars with Spain and France had tended powerfully to
encourage the self-confidence of his fellow-citizens. “We have numerous
and veteran forces burning with a desire to gain immortal renown,” said the
Boletín Oficial of San Luis Potosí. “Not to speak of our approved infantry,”
it was argued, “our artillery is excellent, and our cavalry so superior in men
and horses that it would be an injustice not to recognize the fact;” besides
which “our army can be rapidly augmented.” Indeed an officer of reputation
told Waddy Thompson that the cavalry could break infantry squares with
the lasso. In November, 1845, the Mexican minister of war solemnly
predicted that his countrymen would gain the victory, even if one third less
numerous than their American adversaries. To clinch this matter, the feeling
of superior power, which it was known that we entertained, was regarded as
an ignorant over-confidence that would ensure our defeat. In short, “We
have more than enough strength to make war,” cried the editors of La Voz
del Pueblo; “Let us make it, then, and victory will perch upon our
banners.”[9]
The clash, it seemed probable, would come first in Texas, far from our
centres of strength. On that field Tornel, the keenest public man in the
country, insisted that Mexico could triumph over any force we could bring
to bear, and Almonte offered some reasons for entertaining such an opinion.
The Texan troops, he said, would exhaust their supplies before the
campaign would really begin; and consequently, since there would be no
way to subsist a large American force in that extensive, poor and sparsely
settled region, the greater the number coming, the greater would be their
sufferings. Even the cultivated districts, wrote Elliot, could support only a

trifling addition, if any, to the resident population. Moreover, even should
an American army be able to exist there, a few light troops placed along the
frontier would keep it busy on the defensive, said Pakenham; while it was
urged by Mexicans that, should our line break, their invading host would
soon find itself among the opulent cities of the southern states, where
perhaps it could not only exact money, but free two million slaves, obtain
their grateful and enthusiastic assistance, enroll the Indians of the
southwest, who detested the United States, and draw aid as well as
encouragement from the abolitionists of the north. Almonte himself assured
his government that the blacks, the savages and the anti-slavery extremists
could be reckoned on.[10]
Possibly, of course, their line instead of ours might be the one to give way;
but in that case the Americans, instead of meeting with conditions like
these, would be confronted by immense distances, great deserts, furious
rains, long droughts, and barren, easily defended mountains. “If the war
should be protracted and carried beyond the Rio Grande,” said Captain
Elliot, “I believe that it would require very little skill and scarcely any
exposure of the defending force to draw the invading columns well forward
beyond all means of support from their own bases and depots into situations
of almost inextricable difficulty;” and a correspondent of Calhoun, referring
to such natural obstacles, wrote, “nothing is more certain than your
statement that [the] war will have to become defensive [on our part].”[11]
Moreover it was argued, said the Mexican minister of relations in 1849, that
the invaders would be unable to obtain resources of any description from
the country about them, would be masters of nothing but the ground
actually occupied, and would find the difficulty of maintaining themselves,
at such a distance from their base, “invincible.” On the other hand should
invasion by sea be attempted, the Americans would have to struggle with
tempestuous waters, a coast guarded by reefs and currents, lowlands
protected by “a terrible and faithful ally”—as Cuevas described the yellow
fever, more than one tremendous wall of mountains, and bad roads that
could easily be closed; and they would find no vital point of attack within
practicable reach. The United States cannot hope to conquer Mexico, was
the conclusion of the London Morning Herald, commonly regarded as a
ministerial organ; while the Paris Globe, reputed to be Guizot’s personal

voice, went farther, and predicted that undertaking to do it would be
“ruinous, fatal” to us.[12]
Should we, however, care to make the attempt, Mexico—it was pointed out
—would not only fight on the defensive, and enjoy all the advantages of
knowing the ground, moving on inside lines, and using fortifications, but
would also be able to strike. Nothing would be paid on our claims, either
principal or interest. There was considerable American property in the
country; and while the means of her citizens were being spent in righteous
self-defence, that property could hardly expect exemption. Above all, one
“terrible weapon,” as the Mexican consul at New Orleans termed it, could
be wielded night and day, near and far, without expense and without risk.
This was the issuance of commissions to privateers, for the “nefarious”
conduct of the United States in using this weapon, said the London Times,
authorized Mexico to do the same. The pursuit of slavers had been so close
of late that many fine Baltimore clippers, able to outsail anything but a
steamer and to go where a steamer could not, were lying idle in Cuban
ports, ready to scour the Gulf and the Atlantic.[13]
No less vulnerable seemed the United States in the Pacific Ocean, where—
according to the New York Herald—American property worth fifteen or
twenty millions was afloat. Should letters of marque be “actively and
prudently distributed on the coasts of the Pacific,” wrote consul Arrangóiz
to his government, “the Americans would receive a fatal blow in the
captures [of whalers and merchantmen] that would immediately be made in
the seas of Asia, where the naval forces of the United States are
insignificant and could not promptly be increased”; and he reported in July,
1845, that owing to the prospect of hostilities the insurance companies at
New Orleans were refusing to take war risks. Tornel and the other Mexican
leaders counted heavily on the value of this weapon. Our own journals were
full of the subject, and could find no remedy. American commerce was
defenceless against such an attack, the London Times cheerfully admitted.
[14]

Under these conditions it was most natural to believe that Mexico could
make the war “obstinate and tedious,” as the London Standard said, and
therefore extremely expensive for the United States. She could “with
trifling inconvenience to Herself,” Pakenham told Calhoun, “impose upon
this Country the necessity of employing as large a Naval and Military force

as if the War was with a far more powerful enemy.” Obviously a great
number of warships would be needed to blockade seven hundred leagues of
coast and patrol two oceans, and the cost of soldiers could be figured thus,
it was thought: During the war of independence in Mexico eighty thousand
royal troops and sixty thousand insurgents were supported by that country;
its population and resources had since increased; the United States would
therefore have to send probably two hundred and fifty thousand men; and
the American soldier was very expensive.[15]
The people of this nation were looked upon as worshippers of the dollar,
and it was believed that war taxes would not be endured here long.
Consequently, since the United States had no credit—said European
journals—the conflict would soon have to end. “The invasion and conquest
of a vast region by a state which is without an army and without credit is a
novelty in the history of nations,” remarked the London Times in 1845. The
war losses were expected to reinforce the effect of war taxes. “War with the
United States would not last long,” wrote Arrangóiz, “because the
[American] commerce finding itself attacked on all seas would beg for
peace.” When the Mexican corsairs have captured a few American ships
and the Americans have thrown a few bombs into Vera Cruz, matters will be
arranged, predicted Le Constitutionnel of Paris.[16]
Evidently, then, Mexico was not likely to suffer
MEXICO
RECKONS ON disastrously, and certain benefits of great value could be
BENEFITS anticipated. The act of crossing swords with us would
fulfil a patriotic duty and vindicate the national honor.
Glory and the satisfaction of injuring a perfidious and grasping enemy
would more than compensate for the cost. A conflict would prevent this
greedy neighbor, as the London Times argued, from imagining that Mexico
dared not resist spoliation. The American settlers, whom every effort had
been made for many years to keep out of the country, would be driven
away, and the danger of American ideas averted. Even if the frontier could
not be forced back to the Sabine, a long period of hostilities would render it
impossible to practice near the border our arts of political seduction, and
merely a short contest would tend to re-Mexicanize thoroughly the northern
departments. Indeed the whole country would be re-Mexicanized, for the
first effect of the war would be to cure disunion and baptize the nation anew
in the fires of patriotism. The necessity of meeting a foreign foe would

vitalize the courage of the army, which had grown somewhat lax in battling
with fellow-citizens, restore discipline, and perfect the officers in their
difficult but noble profession. A blockade, many believed with Almonte and
Santa Anna, preventing the exportation of silver and the squandering of
good money on foreign luxuries, would be “the best possible thing” for the
country. Stimulated by exemption from ruinous foreign competition, the
industries would at length flourish, and the boundless natural resources of
the country become fountains of wealth.[17]
War is no doubt a great evil, argued the editors of La Voz del Pueblo, “but
we recall what Polybius said, to wit: ‘If many empires have been destroyed
by war, by war also have many risen from nothing.’” Prussia owes her
greatness to the Seven Years War, pointed out El Siglo XIX. The conquest of
the Moors cost Spain a struggle of centuries, but what Spaniard would undo
it? asked others. “Nations determine their history only in the most
dangerous crises,” urged an anonymous but able pamphlet; “and such a
crisis, in which posterity will admire us, has arrived.”[17]
So the matter presented itself to many when studied as an exclusively
Mexican affair. But could it be regarded as exclusively Mexican? In Central
and South America there were countries that naturally entertained a racial
prejudice against the “Anglo-Saxon.” They were fully capable of
discovering the claim to monopoly suggested by the name United States of
“America,” by our considering none except ourselves “Americans,” and by
our “Monroe Doctrine”; and moreover our press clamored for the entire
continent. Mexico had her eye upon them, and she counted on drawing
support from that quarter.[18]
As early as 1836 Cuevas, then minister at Paris, after pointing out to his
government how strongly the country was protected by nature against the
United States, remarked: “Add to this the interest of the republics of the
South to defend Mexico against an always threatening enemy, which with
its ever monstrous greed seems a volcano ready to burst upon them.” The
next year a Mexican agent at Lima reported that the alleged unlawful
interference of this country in Texas was the subject of general conversation
and of just alarm in the Spanish-American states. In 1842 Dorsey, bearer of
despatches from our legation at Mexico, stated at Savannah that Santa Anna
had sent envoys to all the South American republics with this message:
“Unless you enable us to resist such aggression as will be perpetrated by the

United States, she will proceed to embrace in her mighty grasp the whole of
the southern continent;” and Dorsey added that Colombia had already
promised financial aid and two thousand men. At the close of that year, as a
letter from Caracas mentioned, steps were said to have been taken toward
forming a league to support Mexico against American encroachments. In
1843 Almonte made up a pamphlet of extracts from John Quincy Adams’s
brilliant though unfounded speech at Braintree, in which he accused our
government of greed and unrighteousness in the Texas business; and this
telling document was distributed in the principal cities of South America.
During the following years the menace of our ambition to all of the Spanish
race in this hemisphere continued to be discussed in the Mexican press.
“Republics of South America,” cried La Aurora de la Libertad, for
example, “your existence also is in danger; prepare for the combat;” and it
was easy to believe that official appeals for assistance, in the event of actual
invasion, would not fall upon deaf ears.[18]
And there were still better grounds, it was reckoned, for
EUROPEAN AID
EXPECTED expecting aid from abroad. In the first place, holding
more or less honestly that we had trampled on the law of
nations, the Mexicans persuaded themselves that every civilized country
would feel an interest in their cause. The justice of our case against the
United States, declared the official Diario, will be recognized at once by all
governments to which “public faith and honor are not an empty name.” This
view was encouraged in Europe. The cause of Mexico, said the Liverpool
Mail, is that of all just and honest governments. The Mexicans have good
ground to complain, proclaimed the sympathetic Journal des Débats, for
“they have been tricked and robbed.”[19]
Covered with so noble a sentiment as devotion to the cause of justice, more
practical considerations could be expected to exert their full influence. In
Mexico as well as in the United States, the monarchies of Europe were
believed to view with jealousy the success of our republican institutions.
Our policy of “America for the Americans,” which the British minister,
Ward, had turned against Poinsett at Mexico, was contrary to the interest of
every commercial nation beyond the Atlantic. The United States, exclaimed
Le Correspondant of Paris, assumes to exclude Europe from the affairs of
that continent—as if Europe had not had rights and possessions there before
the United States began to be! as if the United States did not owe its

existence to Europe! as if the ocean could change the law of nations; and
leading journals in London expressed similar indignation.[20]
As the whole world understood, great Britain had not yet forgiven us for
becoming independent, and viewed with great repugnance our extensions of
territory, our commercial development and our control over raw cotton; and
it was obvious that she would be glad to stop our growth. Sooner or later,
warned the British press, the course of this monster will have to be checked.
Guizot, the premier of France, regarded the United States as a “young
Colossus,” and earnestly desired to apply in this hemisphere the principle of
the balance of power. Polk was by no means popular at the Tuilleries, and
the Journal des Débats, commonly regarded as the mouthpiece of the
government, courteously described his Message of December, 1845, as
bellicose, passionate, full of vain and ludicrous bravado, arrogant,
detestably hypocritical, brutally selfish and brutally dishonest.[21]
The plan to annex Texas had greatly disturbed these two governments, and
they had not only exerted to the utmost against it their diplomatic strength,
both separately and in concert, but, as Mexico knew, had been disposed to
take up arms in that cause. Aided by circumstances, the courage and skill of
the United States had completely foiled them, but they could not be
supposed to view the result with satisfaction; and there was good reason to
believe that they contemplated a possible further extension of this country,
not only with alarm, but with a strong desire to prevent it. Said the London
Morning Herald in March, 1845: Mexico will turn to good account the
support of her powerful protectors and their intense repugnance to the
annexation of Texas; and the London Times predicted that our greed in the
Texas affair would be punished.[22]
Gifted at vaticination, the Times predicted also that our next aim would be
the mines of Mexico, and asked the nations of Europe how they would like
to find their monetary circulation “dependent on the caprice of the President
of the United States.” In September, 1845, it printed the assertion of its
Mexican correspondent, that England must interfere or be prepared to see
not only those mines but also California in American hands. There is a
general feeling, announced the London Standard, that only the interposition
of England and France can check the United States. The United States will
absorb Mexico unless foreign powers avert this, preached the London
Journal of Commerce. “The conquest of Mexico would create perils for the

political balance of the world,” said the Journal des Débats; and hence “the
immense aggrandizements” contemplated by the United States “could not
take place without giving umbrage to several nations.” Europe would
certainly forbid a conquest of Mexico, threatened Le Constitutionnel. The
Mexicans were fully capable of seeing all this for themselves. The Monitor
Constitutional, for example, gave currency to the idea that certain powers
would prevent the invasion of their country. Indeed they could see even
more. “Enlightened nations of Europe,” exclaimed La Aurora de la
Libertad, “a people consumed with ambition and covetousness is already
taking up arms to conquer the American continent, lay down the law to your
interests and possessions, and some day disturb your peace at home.”[23]
Another source of possible trouble for the United States abroad was the idea
that any territory obtained from Mexico would be given up to slavery. This
point came out strongly in the Journal des Débats, for example.
Considerably more serious was the danger that in coping with Mexican
privateers we should offend other nations. In this way, so the British
minister warned our secretary of state, the Americans were likely to become
involved in “complications of the gravest character”; and it was believed by
the Mexicans that a blockade of their coast, in addition to being extremely
difficult, was almost or quite certain to have that effect.[24]
To these points they added characteristically that fear of their power, as well
as antipathy to us, might lead foreign nations to espouse their side; and all
the supporters of the monarchical plans now entertained by the government
and the upper classes, felt that if carried out these would pave the way for
European assistance. In fact the British minister himself believed that such
a change of regime would guarantee Mexico against the United States, and
it is reasonable to suppose that in talking with her public men he disclosed
this conviction. Being a jealous nation, thoroughly given up to politics, and
not industrial or commercial, Mexico could not fail to exaggerate the
probable effect of all these influences upon England and France, and to
underestimate the factors that were tending to keep them at peace with us.
[25]

The strongest basis of hope for effective aid from abroad
WAR DESIRED
BY MEXICO was, however, none of these considerations, but our
dispute with England over Oregon. In January, 1846,
Bankhead and Slidell agreed that Mexico’s policy toward the United States

would depend mainly or wholly upon the outcome of that issue, and to the
Mexican eye the outcome was already clear. Each country had rejected the
proposition of the other, and Polk’s Message of December 2, 1845,
committed him afresh to an extreme position. The course of England tended
to confirm the natural inference. Her perfectly excusable intention was to
hold the Mexicans ready to coöperate with her, should war become her
programme, while restraining them from engaging us alone. Bankhead
replied with an encouraging vagueness to Mexican hints that British
assistance was desired, and Lord Aberdeen talked with the Mexican agent at
London of a possible alliance against us. Indeed that agent reported that he
believed Aberdeen would like to see Mexico fight the United States and
win.[26]
For superficial, touch-and-go people here was enough to build upon, and
the long entertained hopes of British aid struck root anew. January 14, 1846,
our minister Slidell stated that the idea of an approaching conflict over the
Oregon question was assiduously nursed, and seventeen days later the
correspondent of the London Times reported, that it had become a general
conviction. Aberdeen’s possible alliance seemed therefore like a certainty,
and he himself admitted to our minister at London that Mexico had counted
upon a war over Oregon. With France, as we know, Mexico did not stand on
the best of terms at this juncture; but in addition to the other reasons for
looking to her, Guizot and Louis Philippe were strongly pro-English, and in
fact, so Bankhead reported, Paredes hoped for assistance from that country
also.[27]
From high to low, as we have learned, the Mexicans were inveterate
gamblers, passionately fond of calculating probabilities and accepting
chances, and a situation like this appealed most fascinatingly to their
instincts and their habits. But in the eyes of many—indeed most, it is likely
—the outlook seemed more than promising. Vain and superficial, they did
not realize their weaknesses. “We could not be in a better state for war,” the
Diario announced in March, 1845. If any one thought of the empty treasury,
he assured himself that patriotism and the boundless natural wealth of the
country would afford resources. Enthusiasm would supply everything, it
was believed. Equally unable were the Mexicans to perceive the frailty of
their hopes for European aid. With few exceptions they saw through a veil,
darkly. Even Almonte, a military man and better acquainted with the United

States than any other prominent citizen, assured his government that in such
a conflict the triumph of Mexico would be “certain.”[28]
Here and there one doubted. Some drew back. But the nation as a whole—if
Mexico really was a nation—felt convinced that pride and passion could
safely be indulged. We shall dictate our own terms, thought many. At any
rate, argued others, our honor will be vindicated by a brilliant stroke beyond
the Rio Grande; European intervention will then occur; the United States
will have to pay a round sum for Texas; and we shall obtain a fixed
boundary, guaranteed by the leading powers of Europe, that will serve as an
everlasting dike against American aggression. The press clamored for war;
the government was deeply committed to that policy; and the great majority
of those who counted for anything, panting feverishly, though with
occasional shivers, to fight the United States, were passionately determined
that no amicable and fair adjustment of the pending difficulties should be
made.[28]
“For us [Mexicans],” Roa Bárcena admitted, “the war was a fact after
Shannon’s declarations of October, 1844, and the fact was confirmed by the
admission of Texas to the North-American Union.” “Since the usurpation of
Texas no arrangement, no friendly settlement has been possible,” said La
Reforma. Besides, a faith in eventual triumph, strong enough to survive a
series of disasters, burned in the heart of the nation. The Mexican
correspondent of the Prussian minister at Washington—regarded by our
secretary of war as entirely trustworthy—reported that the people were bent
upon war. But for the procrastination and vanity of Mexico, no conflict
would have occurred, said J. F. Ramírez, who stood high among the best
public men of that country. “The idea of peace was not popular,” states one
Mexican historian; the nation was responsible for the war, confess others.
Mexico desired it, admitted Santa Anna in 1847 and the minister of relations
in 1849, both speaking officially.[28]

VI
THE AMERICAN ATTITUDE ON THE EVE OF
WAR
1845

In the United States a strong feeling against the dominant elements in
Mexico had been created by events that did not directly concern us. The
atrocious massacres perpetrated at Goliad and the Alamo during the Texan
struggle for independence made an indelible impression on the public mind.
Said Buchanan on the floor of the American Senate: “I shall never forget
the deep, the heart-rending sensations of sorrow and of indignation” which
pervaded this body when we first heard of Santa Anna’s “inhuman
butcheries.” The decimating of Texan prisoners for trying to escape from
their guards, as they had a perfect right to do, and the cruelties, or at least
excessive hardships, which they were made to suffer in confinement,
deepened the feeling. The official threats of ruthless war and even
extermination against the Texans, and the belief that Indians were incited to
fall upon their women and children, sharpened it still more. In 1844 one
Sentmanat went from New Orleans to Tabasco on a revolutionary mission
but was unsuccessful; and his party surrendered to the Mexican leader,
General Ampudia, on the promise of good treatment. Most of the men,
however, were shot; the rest of them disappeared in prison; Sentmanat was
summarily executed; and his head, fried in oil to make it last longer, became
the chief decoration of the public square at San Juan Bautista.[1]
Such acts—naturally though incorrectly supposed to represent the character
of the Mexican, and linked with the apparent cowardice of Santa Anna and
his army in the Texan war of independence—caused the nation in whose
name they were perpetrated to be looked upon by not a few Americans as a
nest of poisonous reptiles, fit only to be stamped upon. Referring to one of
the Texan outrages, the Indiana State Sentinel exclaimed: “Should that
blustering, cowardly nation ever have the temerity to declare war against
the United States, think you not that the remembrance of such scenes will

make every soldier feel himself ‘thrice armed’?” When people of our own
became the victims, when they were robbed and deported without cause on
the shores of the Pacific, when they were shot without trial at Tampico,
when they were threatened with the death of pirates for joining the Texans,
and especially when the newspapers told how Americans among the Santa
Fe prisoners were insulted, abused and forced to work in chains on the road
to Santa Anna’s palace, so that he might feast his cruel, cowardly eyes upon
their sufferings, fury burned like a flame in many a heart. Time appeased
the fire, but in 1846 the embers were still red.[1]
With less poignant but no less real indignation the
AMERICAN
FEELING ABOUT American public noted in a general way the entire long
MEXICAN series of our grievances: our flag insulted, our minister
OUTRAGES traduced and threatened, our consuls maltreated, our
government officially maligned, agreements broken,
treaties ignored or violated, citizens persecuted and imprisoned, property
confiscated, trade hampered and ruined, complaints more or less politely
mocked, positive demands adroitly evaded, valid claims fraudulently
defeated; and heard that such offences were not merely committed now and
then, but repeated over and over again with apparent deliberation and
malice. The highest Mexican authorities were found encouraging prejudice
and ill-will against our citizens, exerting themselves to make foreign
nations distrust and hate us, misrepresenting our efforts to conciliate them,
and describing our honest wish to be on friendly terms as hypocrisy and
craft. Our people saw the legitimate results of Mexican misgovernment
charged against this country; proceedings of our authorities, fully warranted
by the facts, protested against; threats of war freely made to influence our
national conduct; and measures looking toward hostilities openly advocated
and adopted in the most offensive manner. Just how fully the details were
noted by the public, and how long the incidents were remembered, it would
obviously be impossible to say; but in all probability they sank into the
general consciousness, and produced a certain state of mind.
In February, 1847, the Virginia House of Delegates declared that the war
had been “most unrighteously provoked ... by a long series of acts of
injustice and outrage towards the United States,” and this is only one of
almost countless equivalent expressions, which no doubt were fairly
sincere.[2]

On the other hand certain factors tended to neutralize our indignation. There
was a disposition, traceable to natural good-heartedness, political
expediency and commercial interests, to maintain friendly relations with
our neighbor. Much of what seemed like misconduct was attributed to
circumstances. We had a rather conceited notion that Mexicans could not be
expected to know very much or do very well. More or less faintly the idea
glimmered, that perhaps it was easy for them to misunderstand the Texas
affair, and natural for them to be angry about it. Many felt inclined on
general principles to suspect that our aggrieved citizens were not entirely
exempt from blame. Money was used by the agents of Mexico to influence
our press. Domestic politics warped public opinion in her favor sometimes;
and finally the anti-slavery people went great lengths in championing her
government and accusing their own, for every suggestion of war upon
Mexico was suspected of aiming at the acquisition of territory and the
reinforcement of a hated institution.[3]
The northeastern states, on account of the strong anti-slavery sentiment
existing there, were not a little disposed to heed these influences, but
elsewhere they signified much less, and were quite unable to offset the
prevalent feeling that Mexico had insulted, outraged and cheated us, and the
growing conviction that, in dealing with her, forbearance had proved to be a
mistake. As early as 1830 Count Lillers wrote from New Orleans: It would
be “impossible” to speak of Mexico with “more bitterness and desire of
vengeance than is done by certain persons whose words must not be
neglected,” and by 1837 many agreed with Jackson that satisfaction ought
to be required; yet nothing positive was done, and the impatience grew. The
lenity of our authorities began to be denounced, and the New Orleans
Picayune in particular attacked what it called “the known imbecility which
has for years marked our government at home as regards its external
relations with Mexico.”[4]
The proceedings of her claims commissioners had a signally bad effect.
“The conduct of the Mexican government towards the American claimants
under the treaty between the two countries,” declared the Picayune, “has
been the most infamously perfidious ever practised by one country and
submitted to by another.” “Many earnest remonstrances and complaints,”
wrote Webster, our secretary of state, officially to the Mexican
commissioners, have been made to me against your proceedings and those

of your government in this affair; and though he refrained from expressing
any opinion as to the justice of them, such a declaration was evidence of an
indignation both deep and general. At the same time fresh grievances
accumulated; and the Mexicans, instead of showing any appreciation of
what our people regarded as kindness toward them, appeared even less
willing to grant effectual redress than ten or fifteen years before.
“Forbearance and lenity toward such creatures,” protested the Jeffersonian
Republican of New Orleans in August, 1845, “are all lost and worse than
lost,” for they are thought signs of weakness, and lead to greater atrocities.
[5]

The decision of Herrera’s administration to reject Slidell, our minister of
peace, was generally regarded—except by the partisan opponents of our
government—as a crowning proof of the vanity of forbearance and a loud
call for action. This nation, said the St. Louis Republican, “owes it to
herself and her character, and the just appreciation of her ministers and her
standing in all foreign countries not to suffer so open an insult to her
representative to pass unnoticed.” “The indignity to our Minister requires
atonement,” was the crisper utterance of the Picayune, which was widely
recognized as the best informed authority on Mexican affairs among our
newspapers. The revolution of Paredes appeared to be a further evidence of
hostility. The government of Mexico, observed the Delta of New Orleans,
has been overthrown with no pretext except the necessity of active war
against the United States; so let war be waged. Finally, the definitive
rejection of our peace overture, announced in Castillo’s defiant and
offensive note, supplied a conclusive argument in the opinion of many
against further hesitation. “We have borne and forborne long enough, and a
resolute stand should be taken at once,” was the comment of the Missouri
Reporter. “The United States,” declared the New Orleans Commercial
Bulletin, “have borne more insult, abuse, insolence and injury, from
Mexico, than one nation ever before endured from another ... they are now
left no alternative but to extort by arms the respect and justice which
Mexico refuses to any treatment less harsh.”[6]
Another consideration that intensified public sentiment
BELIEF THAT
EUROPE WAS was the suspicion, which in many cases deepened into
BEHIND MEXICO something more, that she was to be used against us by
the monarchies of Europe, and in particular by Great

Britain. In 1842, when she made forays into Texas and threatened a serious
invasion, it became a very prevalent opinion in the United States, reported
the Mexican consul at New Orleans, that England stood behind these
movements; and later that country was justly believed to be working in
Texas to defeat and injure us. Her influence at Mexico was understood to be
powerful; and the Americans, not aware what elements of strength Mexico
felt able to count upon, thought she certainly would not defy us unless
assured of foreign support. “Our people are prone to the opinion, whether
well or ill-founded,” said the Commonwealth of Lexington, Kentucky, in
February, 1846, “that that ambitious and mischievous government [of Great
Britain] is at the bottom of Mexican hostility towards us.” This was
provocation enough. “To fight the Britishers, all the States are one,”
complained the London Times, and on this point it was doubtless much
closer to the fact than in most of its deliverances on American affairs.[7]
England was not supposed to be alone, however. Our people understood
that France had coöperated with her against the annexation of Texas, and
not a few suspected her of pursuing the same course to bring about the
rejection of Slidell and the anti-American revolution of Paredes. In
February, 1846, the Courrier des Etats Unis of New York, which could be
regarded as of considerable importance, made this rather startling
announcement: “The latest intelligence from Mexico leaves no doubt that
the new Government of that country is resolved to reject all peaceful
overtures from the United States and solicit the intervention of European
powers to obtain from the Union indemnification for the loss of Texas and a
boundary line under the protecting guaranty of France and Great Britain.
We know personally that this was an idea entertained by General Almonte
when he left New York, on his return to Mexico, where he now occupies an
influential place in the government.” The statement that Almonte expressed
such a view early in 1845 must have become known somewhat widely, for
apparently it signified much; and the scheme could not fail to give offence
to as many of our people as heard of it. Even more disagreeable were the
plans for a European monarchy now looming up so boldly south of the Rio
Grande, for they defied the “Monroe Doctrine,” and threatened to bring
some great power—perhaps more than one—directly into the lists against
us. During February, 1846, the New Orleans papers, especially the
Picayune, invited the attention of the country vigorously to this phase of the
situation.[8]

All things considered, it seemed imperative to stop drifting, and to settle our
affairs with Mexico before the monarchs of Europe could mature plans to
injure us; and evidently, from that point of view, no further delay could be
afforded. At this time, therefore, the people of the southwest, the region
most deeply interested in the situation and consequently best entitled to
speak, demanded very seriously and very positively a definitive adjustment
of our relations with Mexico. As matters were, the thought of armies and
privateers appearing on the horizon as the first announcement of war hardly
allowed nervous people to sleep. Actual fighting, it was often argued, would
be less injurious than passive hostility with its threats and possibilities. The
desirability of Mexican friendship on the score of commercial and political
interests was not forgotten, but many believed that good relations could not
be had without first giving her a lesson. Finally, urged the Picayune with
reference to the monarchical designs of Paredes, it was now the most
critical time since the Spanish colonies had revolted; the future of
republicanism and the independence of America were at stake; and as
matters stood, European powers had the battlefield, Mexico, wholly to
themselves.[9]
These broad views were strongly supported by more limited and often by
less justifiable ones. The trade interests of the entire Mississippi valley
required not only to be freed from danger, but also to have the plan of non-
intercourse, which Mexico had practically put into force, given up. A
Mexican army would march into Texas, it was remarked, “as avowed
abolitionists,” and slaveholders may naturally have preferred to meet this
peril in the enemy’s territory. Political considerations of a personal sort, and
one especially, doubtless had an influence. Calhoun, the dominant figure of
the South, contemplating a possible withdrawal from the Union, desired the
people of that section to husband their strength. “We need our young men
for other troubles,” he said with reference to their fighting Mexico. Besides,
he naturally could not welcome a great disturbance that would interfere
necessarily with his plans, and lead to political results of an unpredictable
sort. Now there were men, particularly in Mississippi, by no means
unwilling to embarrass and possibly unhorse that overshadowing leader by
forcing him to antagonize a popular movement; and a war with Mexico
seemed obviously well-suited for such a purpose.[10]

A wish to extend the Union was undoubtedly a factor.[11]
AMERICAN
DESIRE FOR As the American Review said, Burr had planted in the
TERRITORY lower Mississippi valley the seeds of ambition for
southern conquest, and the soil proved very fit for their
germination and growth.[12] As early as 1830 the British consul at New
Orleans believed the people would support an attack upon the territory of
Mexico. In 1835 a French visitor of some prominence concluded that every
American held two ideas firmly: that our prosperity resulted from our
republican institutions, and that Providence intended the new world for the
Anglo-Saxon. In 1843 Captain Elliot, mistaking an instinct for a
determination, felt satisfied that the United States had resolved to push
south. By 1845 the appetite for more territory was pronounced. “There
appears to be no limit to the insatiable lust of territorial acquisition which
pervades the minds of many of our citizens,” lamented the New Orleans
Tropic. When the annexation of Texas appeared to be certain, the New York
Morning News exclaimed, “Who’s the next customer, California or
Canada?” To this question the Tribune replied, that its neighbor had tasted
blood and growled for more. No, we don’t growl, retorted the News; more
“will come soon enough—come of its own accord,” for our destiny is to
possess the whole continent. Believers in this convenient theory felt bound
to go forward, and should Mexico oppose the decree of Heaven, so much
the worse for her.[13]
Behind our voracity and largely responsible for it were a restlessness and a
dissatisfaction resulting from energies that found no adequate outlet. In all
parts of the country this was the case. As a people “we are restless, fidgety,
discontented, anxious for excitement,” confessed the New York Herald. In
Illinois times were hard. Every attempt at commercial or industrial
enterprise had failed; farmers could not sell their crops at paying rates; with
boundless force in heart and brain the young man could find nothing worth
while to do. The state of mind in other parts of that section appears to have
been similar. Indiana gave up all attempts to pay interest on her debt as
early as 1840. All over the western border, said the American Review, “are
great numbers of bold and restless spirits, men gathered out of all the
orderly and civilized portions of society as its most turbulent members, and
ready for any enterprise that can minister to their reckless manner of life
and love of danger and of change;” and the West was already powerful in
our national affairs. “Our people,” wrote Calhoun, “are like a young man of

18, full of health and vigour, and disposed for adventure of any
description.”[14]
Such an intoxication of animal vitality demanded a fight,
THE POPULAR
EYE FIXED ON of course. “The multitude cry aloud for war,” admitted
MEXICO the New York Herald in August, 1845. “Nine-tenths of
our people, ceteris paribus, would rather have a little
fighting than not,” was the opinion of its neighbor, the Morning News. “let
us go to war,” began a leader in the New York Journal of Commerce; “The
world has become stale and insipid, the ships ought to be all captured, and
the cities battered down, and the world burned up, so that we can start
again. There would be fun in that. Some interest,—something to talk
about.” If such was the feeling in a high latitude, it must have burned hot at
the south; and the young men of the Mississippi valley had special reasons
for their ardor. The region of western Tennessee had been settled by
revolutionary soldiers, and they had left a rich inheritance of military
traditions. Jackson towered above all other figures at the southwest, and his
chief distinction was that of the sword. Everybody talked still of the war of
1812 and his brilliant exploit at New Orleans. Indeed, when the mind
wearied of the continual hunting, there was little else to fasten its eye upon.
Military glory became the young man’s dream. All aspired to be soldiers,
and to win renown by fighting for their country. This was their inborn and
incessantly cultivated ambition; and it need not be added that all the young
ladies felt that only a military hero, or at least the makings of such a hero,
deserved their attention.[15]
Reasons enough why this feeling concentrated upon Mexico have already
been given, but certain others are in order here. That “is indeed the garden
spot of the Americas and presents allurements more tempting than did the
sunny plains and vineyards of Italy, when the northern hordes swept down
and drifted like a snowstorm over the south of Europe”—such was the
picture of “that magnificent region” held up by the Commercial Bulletin of
New Orleans before thousands of young sparks bored nearly to death by the
commonplace. Besides, greatly exaggerated notions of Mexico’s wealth got
abroad. Young fellows overstocked with energy were not willing to hoe
corn at five shillings a day, or dig potatoes for every tenth bushel when the
mountains of a near and hostile country were understood to be packed with
silver, and her churches to be radiant with diamonds and gold. Stronger than

all else, perhaps, the vague but romantic idea of “revelling in the halls of
the Montezumas” exercised a perfect fascination. A letter from New York
published in August, 1845, declared that fully twenty thousand volunteers
could be raised in that city alone “without fee or reward, who would jump
at the chance of marching to Mexico” simply to enjoy this diversion. In
short, said the New York Morning News, all the “young and ardent spirits
that throng the cities and are spread over the face of the Union want but a
direction to their restless energies, and their attention is already fixed on
Mexico.”[16]
What made this outlook peculiarly inviting was the belief that only one
bold, swift dash would be needed—no dull, plodding, grimy campaigning
year after year. Six sevenths of the people in Mexico were said to be
Indians, half-breeds and negroes—“mere slaves,” and the rest of them
degenerate Spaniards; and the keepers of that paradise, the guardians of
those treasures, were represented as “a feeble and degraded soldiery, who
would be scattered like chaff by the first volley from the Anglo-Saxon rifle,
the first charge of the Anglo-Saxon bayonet.” “An adventure full of fun and
frolic and holding forth the rewards of opulence and glory,” was therefore
the Commercial Bulletin’s golden picture of a war with Mexico, and such
became the common idea.[17]
In the summer of 1845 this magnificent dream of sport, glory and opulence
appeared to be on the point of realization, and the war spirit flamed high.
Even journals that had stood firmly against annexing Texas took fire. “What
more inspiring strain can strike the ears of freemen,” demanded the
Richmond Enquirer, “than the trumpet note which summons our people to
the punishment of tyrants?... We utterly mistake the spirit of republicanism
in America, if there be not one voice for a full and thorough chastisement of
Mexican arrogance and folly.” The prospect of “coercing” out of Mexico
her “spirit of depredation, perfidy and aggression” and thus inaugurating the
sweet and commercially profitable reign of peace excited hot zeal. West of
the Alleghanies the feeling was peculiarly strong. At Nashville the Union
promised that “any number” of volunteers the government might call for
would be forthcoming. At St. Louis, in the opinion of the Reveille, only a
prospect of service in the field was needed to induce “the most active
volunteering” among the “enthusiastic population.” “Go where you will,”
recorded the Picayune, “’tis war and nothing but war;” and Buchanan

wrote, “You can have no adequate conception of the military ardor which
exists” in the west and southwest; “It will be easy to bring 100,000
volunteers into the field from those States.”[18]
When Mexico seemed to be slow about striking, the New York Morning
News declared that “a feeling of disappointment” began to be shown by the
public, though still, it added, “At every spring of the whelp, at every mail
from the Gulf, the national pulse moves quicker.” When the prospect of
immediate hostilities appeared to be over, the Mobile Herald and Tribune
announced, “After all the visions of glory and honor which have been
dancing through the popular brain for the last six months” nothing has been
done. But in reality something had been done. Such a state of passion could
not simply go out of existence, especially since the causes of it still
remained. The people had become yet more thoroughly inoculated with the
idea of fighting Mexico, and the country had not advanced far into the new
year 1846 before all were again talking about it, said a Mississippi journal.
“Sunday editors” in particular, it added, “shriek out ‘War! War! War!’” Will
Polk be able to withstand the clamor? asked the Memphis Enquirer; “We
fear not.” The final rejection of Slidell naturally intensified the martial
feeling. “The almost unanimous voice of the American people,” wrote even
Governor Hammond of South Carolina, insisted upon war. So much for the
attitude of the public.[19]
Turning now to the attitude of the government, we are
THE CHARGE
THAT POLK told at once that Polk deliberately intended to attack
WISHED FOR Mexico, and are offered various reasons for so believing.
WAR One accuser says that he was ambitious for personal
glory; another, that he desired to perpetuate the power of
his party; a third, that he felt anxious to cover up the humiliating result of
the Oregon negotiation; still another, that he wished to be reëlected; and
more than one allege that he was determined to obtain California. For this
last view there is just evidence enough to create a suspicion. For example,
Bancroft remarked more than forty years after the event that Polk said the
acquisition of that province would be one of his aims, and this remark has
been cited as if it proved the charge. But there was not the slightest
impropriety in his desiring an immensely valuable territory that Webster
had endeavored a few years before to acquire, and in 1845 Bancroft himself
represented the President’s feeling toward Mexico as “most conciliatory.”

Indeed, after the conflict had begun, Bancroft wrote privately to Samuel
Hooper, “We were driven reluctantly to war.”[20]
Again, certain facts are cited and aligned: Polk wanted California, a war
occurred, and he promptly took advantage of the war to occupy the desired
territory. But the existence of several points in line does not prove the
existence of a path connecting them, and there is weighty evidence against
the suspicion which these facts naturally excite. While directing Slidell to
obtain the cession of northern California, if he could, Buchanan intimated,
as we have seen, that he should not press this matter, if so doing would
prevent the restoration of amicable relations with Mexico. In other words,
instead of desiring to precipitate a war for the sake of obtaining California,
Polk was ready to let California go—or at least wait—for the sake of
maintaining peace. Besides, as we shall find when we come to the
operations on the western coast, Polk had a policy for the acquisition of that
region, and this policy did not contemplate war. With nothing solid to stand
upon, then, and much to stand against, this theory must be given up.[20]
The other explanations of Polk’s alleged intention to fight Mexico are
evidently mere conjectures, and prove nothing. The idea that contracts and
offices could strengthen the administration and build up the party is mainly,
or perhaps entirely, fallacious. There were not enough to satisfy more than a
small percentage of the hungry patriots, and the rest were likely to take
offence. Moreover, if given to Democrats, these favors could make no
converts; while if given to Whigs, the Democrats were sure to complain,
and few of the recipients could change their party for such a reason. Many
of Polk’s chief troubles, as his diary shows, came from dissatisfied
applicants for commissions, and any person well versed in public affairs
could have foreseen that it would be so.[21] And yet, after all, the charge that
he purposely brought on the war has been so commonly believed, or at least
so frequently repeated, that it can fairly demand a more extended
examination.[22]
First of all, then, we must form an estimate of Polk. For
POLK’S
PERSONALITY this purpose his diary is extremely useful. No doubt, like
other documents of the sort, it colors some things and
omits others; but so extremely busy a man could not have practised
systematic misrepresentation in his daily record without hopelessly
enmeshing and entangling himself and incurring the risk of detection at

many points, while—occupying, as he did, a position where his every word
and act were noted by others—he would have exposed himself often to
documentary refutation. Besides, the marks of good faith are without
number. The diary should therefore be accepted, and has been accepted, as
essentially truthful; and the man it shows us—revealed also by a large
amount of other evidence—is a cold, narrow, methodical, dogged, plodding,
obstinate partisan, deeply convinced of his importance and responsibility,
very wanting in humor, very wanting in ideality, very wanting in
soulfulness, inclined to be sly, and quite incapable of seeing great things in
a great way. All know the type. It is the leading citizen and schemer of the
small town, who marches up the centre aisle on public occasions with
creaking shoes and a wooden smile, and takes his seat with a backward, all-
embracing glance.[23]
Such a person—lean, stiff, angular, with sharp gray eyes in a sad face, and
long, grizzled hair brushed straight back behind his ears—makes no appeal
to our sympathies, and for that reason is almost sure to be judged unfairly.
For example, Polk has been called the “Mendacious”; but that is unjust.
Many things are done in good society which, if thrown upon a screen before
two thousand people, would be recognized instantly as mean; and the same
is true in the world of affairs. As a lawyer and politician of Nashville, Polk
no doubt resorted to devices of this kind, and he was not the man to realize
the difference between a provincial town and a nation, and adapt himself to
his new position. Compelled to act, he acted as he could; used the tactics
with which he was familiar. In this manner he deceived men or permitted
men to deceive themselves, and those accustomed to broader and larger and
nobler methods thought he lied. In reality he was not Polk the Mendacious,
but simply Polk the Mediocre.[23]
Yet he was mediocre only as compared with great standards. He could by
no means be called insignificant. George Bancroft, secretary of the navy,
has testified that he surpassed every member of his Cabinet in ability—not
as high a distinction, perhaps, as might have been wished, but still high. His
will-power was ample, and his output of mental energy large. In
seriousness, industry and fidelity he left nothing to be desired. Though
strongly inclined to be positive, he would listen patiently to others, discuss
weighty matters at length, and if convinced would yield. He reflected long,
and yet when the time for decision came, he did not shrink from taking a

stand. He intended to do his duty as he, Polk, was able to see it, and spent
himself liberally in that cause. He certainly was religious, and no doubt—
though blind to the beauty of uprightness and unresponsive to the delicacy
of honor—he fully believed that he was conscientious.[23]
To regard such a man, uninspired and uninspiring, as capable of playing the
brilliant villain’s rôle in a grand international tragedy, of dreaming the
conqueror’s dream and sacrificing his fellow-citizens on the altar of gory
but gorgeous ambition, of smelling the battle from afar like the war-horse
and crying, “Ha, ha!”—this is out of the question. It was not in him. Neither
intellect, conscience nor imagination permitted it. The Cabinet, which he
selected with care, hampered by no preëlection agreements, was much like
him; and as Benton said, it is “impossible to conceive of an administration
less warlike, or more intriguing.” “Mr. Polk never dreamed of any other war
than a war upon the Whigs,” admitted Robert Toombs, then a Whig member
of Congress, in February, 1846.[23]
A number of circumstances almost committed him to a peaceable course
toward Mexico. During the discussions of the annexation project one of the
strongest objections had been that it would involve the country in war, and
its advocates had strenuously denied this allegation. The President belonged
to that group, and Webster said: “That Mr. Polk and his Cabinet will desire
to keep the peace, there is no doubt. The responsibility of having provoked
war by their scheme of annexation is what they would greatly dread.”
Though many plain citizens desired a fight, an influential body of
merchants, financiers and conservatives did not; and in the view of a still
greater number a vital discrepancy between the predictions of the
annexationists and their later conduct would surely have been damaging.
The Oregon question threatened to prove serious; and it is hardly credible
that Polk, even if quite willing to meet an attack from Mexico, would have
desired to attack her before settling this controversy with England. The
secretaries of state, war and the navy did not hail from fire-eating
communities. The head of the army, General Scott, was a Whig and a
recognized candidate for the Presidency; and the chiefs of the Democratic
party had fully sense enough to understand that a war might enable him to
succeed Polk. In fact the President’s diary exhibits painful writhings due to
such a possibility. Finally war, no matter how successful, would mean taxes,
and even those who demanded a fight might not be willing to pay for it.

Certainly Polk was not self-sacrificing enough to desire the odium of laying
war taxes for the sake of bringing Scott into the White House. Besides, it
looked as if war expenses could not fail to strengthen the tariff system, and
that was obnoxious to a great number of the Democrats.[24]
Polk’s professions were every way most pacific. The
POLK’S COURSE
PACIFIC assurances conveyed to Almonte after he made his
protest have already been mentioned. In August, 1845,
Polk wrote confidentially to a Senator, “We will not be the aggressors upon
Mexico.” A month later Buchanan declared in a “Private and Personal”
letter to our minister at London: “The President does not intend to proceed
beyond a just and righteous self-defence, and he is ready to present the
olive branch to Mexico the moment he knows it will be accepted.” It is
hardly supposable that our secretary of state intended to deceive our most
important representative abroad, or that he was deceived himself by Polk in
so vital a matter.[25]
The confidential orders of the government were emphatically unwarlike in
tone. To Conner, commanding in the Gulf, the secretary of the navy wrote
in March, 1845, “The disposition of the President is to maintain the most
friendly relations with the Mexican Republic,” and in substance this
declaration was repeated in the following July and August. “Take special
care,” the department said to Stockton, who had a few vessels on the Texas
coast, “to avoid every act that can admit of being construed as inconsistent
with our friendly relations” with Mexico. Commodore Sloat, in the Pacific,
was told in “Secret and Confidential” instructions dated June 24, 1845,
“The President hopes, most earnestly, that the peace of the two countries
may not be disturbed ... do everything consistent with the national honor” to
avoid a rupture; and these instructions to Sloat were most noteworthy, for
the commander on the Pacific station was liable to be out of touch with the
government for a year at a time, and he needed to be sure as to its general
policy.[26]
For the guidance of our chargé in Texas, where many feared a Mexican
invasion and called for American troops, a clear statement of our intentions
was equally necessary, and Buchanan wrote to Donelson at about the same
time, “The Government will studiously refrain from all acts of hostility
towards that republic [Mexico], unless these should become absolutely
necessary in self-defence.” Quite in line with all this was the order

cancelling Frémont’s second exploring trip to the far west, because he had
equipped his party in a military style—an order that was decidedly over-
strict, since precautions against the Indians could not be neglected. In his
Message to the Senate, March 24, 1846, the President declared it his
“settled purpose” to maintain peace with Mexico, and it is believed that no
expression of his indicating a desire to provoke a conflict can be found.[26]
The measures of the administration corresponded with its professions. In
the first place this was true negatively. It would not be easy to deny that
Mexico’s refusal to pay the instalments of our awards could have been
handled by our government in a way to enrage this nation, already so eager
for the fray, and probably her severance of diplomatic relations might have
been used to precipitate an issue; but no advantage was taken of either
opportunity. Another instance is even more signal. One can hardly doubt
that Polk might have brought on a war in the summer of 1845, had he so
desired. Not only had Mexico grossly insulted us, refused to pay those
awards, and severed relations with us both at her capital and at our own, but
she had solemnly announced that our annexing Texas would be regarded as
equivalent to a declaration of war, notified her agents privately and the
world at large publicly that she was going to fight, and begun preparations
for immediate hostilities. Had Polk summoned Congress and laid all the
facts before it, a declaration of war, or at least an ultimatum that Mexico
would in all probability have rejected, must certainly, or almost certainly,
have been the response; and if one may judge from the state of mind
existing in the United States at the time, our people would in the main have
supported such a course. “The current of public opinion,” said the St. Louis
Republican, “seems now strongly inclined in favor of a war with Mexico.”
“All the better portions of the press of the country,” was the summary of the
New Orleans Picayune, “are urgent for the adoption of the most energetic
measures” against that country. Almost every Democratic journal and a vast
majority of the Whig journals, declared the Washington Globe, were for
crushing Mexico at once. “The people will approve” of vigorous action,
admitted even the Charleston Courier.[27]
But Polk did not adopt a course of that sort. He took no
POLK DID NOT
DESIRE THE WAR such steps to settle matters with England as a President
of ordinary common sense would have taken, if anxious
to fight Mexico; and no serious measures were adopted to increase our

nominal army or our insufficient fleet. In September, he requested the
members of the Cabinet to make their estimates for the coming year on “the
most economical scale,” and in fact only twenty-six hundred additional men
were asked for the army—none for the navy. A note from the secretary of
the navy to Captain Perry—“We are jogging on quietly this winter, not
anticipating war”—well represents our military and naval programme; and
a letter to Conner explains it: “We all hope Mexico will agree to a peace.”
Knowing, as Polk must have known, the deep and widespread fear of
Mexican privateers, he would have been prevented by a merely selfish
regard for the good opinion of the public from planning war without
making some dispositions to protect, or at least warn, our millions of
floating property. And apparently even the ardor of our young men for
combat did not seriously move him.[28]
In the second place, Polk’s action pointed the same way as his non-action.
No one could think of any rational method to conciliate Mexico that he did
not put into operation. The chief object of Parrott’s mission, which was
private and therefore could not have been intended for effect upon the
world, was understood by Parrott himself to be, “preventing a declaration of
war, by Mexico, against the United States.” In appointing Slidell, as even
the American Review admitted, the President was evidently sincere. At the
end of March, 1846, Polk received advices from Slidell which made it seem
quite possible that he would finally be given a hearing, and immediately he
set on foot a plan to furnish Paredes with funds, enable him to keep the
army faithful, and thus encourage him to settle matters amicably. Indeed, all
that is known of this mission from beginning to end, including Slidell’s
private letters to Buchanan and numerous details that it would be
wearisome to hear specified, show that Polk strongly desired—as the
Mexicans accused him of desiring—a restoration of friendly intercourse;
and when the purpose had evidently failed, Slidell gave final evidence of
that disposition by writing: “I am greatly mortified at the total failure of a
mission commenced under auspices apparently the most flattering, but that
mortification is much mitigated by the consciousness, that no fault of
omission or commission, can justly be attributed either to the Government
or to the Legation.”[29]
In short, then, we find that Polk had the gravest reasons for desiring friendly
intercourse with Mexico, and probably felt none for plotting war; that a

variety of personal and political circumstances naturally inclined him
toward peace; that his declarations, both public and private, pointed
consistently in that direction as long as any hope of an amicable settlement
remained; and that what he did in repeated and most significant ways, as
well as what he refrained from doing, had the same meaning. We must
therefore give up the idea that he desired, and from the first intended, to
have a war with Mexico.
All prospects of negotiation came to an end, however,
A CRISIS
and the administration found itself confronted by a
crisis. The dignity of the United States had certainly
been outraged in a defiant and contemptuous manner. By the acts of
Mexico, diplomatic relations had been completely severed, and she would
not renew them on any terms which the United States could think of
accepting. Commercial intercourse was practically at an end, and the
interests of our citizens were so gravely prejudiced, that from this point of
view even a London paper, the Examiner, admitted reluctantly that the
situation was becoming “intolerable to the United States.” Our claims and
our awards were still facts. “The honor of this government is pledged to our
own people for the diligent and proper prosecution of these claims,” our
secretary of state had said in 1843, and it was perfectly true. To let them go
unpaid, in addition to being internationally immoral, would have wronged
our aggrieved citizens; and to pay them from our own revenues, besides
being immoral, pusillanimous and ridiculous, would have been unfair to all
of our tax-payers. We had observed no more willingness, although the
Mexican government had nearly always been sufficiently strong, to do us
justice before annexation became an issue than afterwards; and in fact
Ashburnham, a British representative at Mexico, did not exaggerate when
he wrote, “They will not pay but on compulsion.” There was therefore no
way to collect our due except by force.[30]
If our long forbearance appeared to American editors a mistake, much more
reason had the administration to entertain that opinion, for our ministers and
consuls in Mexico had repeatedly urged it, and Slidell had summed up his
experience there in the following words, amply justified by the sequel: “We
shall never be able to treat with her on fair terms until she has been taught
to respect us ... here all amicable advances are considered as indicative
either of weakness or treachery.” “Be assured,” he added privately to

Buchanan, “that nothing is to be done with these people, until they shall
have been chastised.” The solemn declarations of a succession of trusted
agents that our forbearance was a tactical error were facts that our
government was bound to consider; and by way of confirmation it had not
only our complete failure to get on with Mexico, but the success of a power
which seemed to have pursued a very different course, for in October, 1845,
our consul at Vera Cruz had given the state department a specimen of
England’s tone. Mexico, said she to the minister of relations, must fulfil to
the letter every contract with a British subject.[31]
Furthermore our government felt seriously concerned about the European
monarchical schemes. Early in January, 1846, the London Times printed a
letter from its correspondent at Mexico in which the opinion was expressed
that a foreign prince, if “seconded by any leading European power,” could
gain a Mexican throne. A week later the same journal, recommending a
Spanish king as the only possible cure for the ills of Mexico, had remarked
that the United States could not oppose the “united policy of the European
Powers”; and at about the same time the Picayune had announced, that it
was proposed to give Cuba to England for her coöperation in the
monarchical plan. Our government had, and could have, no intention of
submitting to such European manoeuvres. Any attempt of England and
France to place a king on the throne of Mexico, wrote Buchanan, “would be
resisted by all the power of the United States;” and the best way to oppose it
was to effect a definitive settlement of our difficulties with Mexico at once
—first, because this of itself would very likely make the development of the
rather complicated scheme appear, in view of the “Monroe Doctrine,”
impracticable, and, secondly, because no European power could, with any
show of decency, interfere in the domestic affairs of that country, while she
was actually at war.[32]
Chivalry does not govern international relations even at the present day, and
in 1845 sentiment was perhaps less tender on the subject than it now is.
Vattel, the recognized authority on the law of nations, wrote thus: “Every
nation ... has, therefore, a right ... to preserve herself from all injuries....
When the evil is done, the same right to security authorizes the offended
party to endeavour to obtain a complete reparation, and to employ force for
that purpose, if necessary.”[33]

Moreover, the United States could appeal, not only to strict law, but still
more forcibly to broad equity. To sum up the case in one sentence, Mexico,
our next neighbor, on no grounds that could be recognized by the United
States, repudiated her treaties with us, ended official relations, aimed to
prevent commercial intercourse, planned to deprive us of all influence on
certain issues vitally connected with our declared foreign policy, seemed
likely to sell California to some European rival of ours, made it impossible
for us to urge long-standing claims or watch over citizens dwelling within
her borders, refused to pay even her admitted debts to us, claimed the
privilege of applying to our government publicly the most opprobrious
epithets in the vocabulary of nations, designed to keep our people in a
constant state of uncertainty and alarm, intended to cause us the expense of
maintaining for defensive purposes a large army and a large navy, planned
to destroy our commerce by commissioning privateers, claimed the right to
harry Texas, a part of the Union, at will, threatened and prepared for war,
and proposed to assume such an attitude that, whenever encouraged by
foreign support or any other circumstances, she could open fire upon us
without even giving notice. She had informed the world that it was her
privilege to keep on harrying Texas from generation to generation; and on a
broader scale, but in a manner precisely analogous, it was now proposed to
hang upon the flank of the United States. Foreign mediation could not be
invoked, for all the American states were naturally supposed to be
prejudiced, and it was contrary to our interest and avowed policy to allow
European intervention in the affairs of this continent; and no end of what
had become truly an intolerable state of affairs could be seen, for Mexico
declared she would never give up her pretensions until she had recovered
Texas, which it was now beyond her power to do.[34]
It rested with our government, therefore, as the agent of
THE CASE
URGENT national defence and the representative of national
dignity and interests, to apply a remedy. Of course, too,
all the pressure of warlike sentiment among our people, especially in the
President’s party, and even the pressure of motives distinctly selfish, had to
be recognized more or less, for such is the nature of popular government.
Very likely Polk’s abandoning a part of our Oregon claim rendered it the
more necessary to avoid flinching in the Mexican affair; and accordingly on
April 21, 1846, after long consideration of the matter, he informed the
Cabinet that our relations with Mexico “could not be permitted to remain”

as they were, and that he thought he should recommend to Congress the
adoption of energetic measures for the redress of our grievances, which
meant also of course a full settlement of our differences with that power. In
truth no other course would have been patriotic or even rational.[35]

VII
THE PRELIMINARIES OF THE CONFLICT
April, 1845—April, 1846

Strangely enough, although our diplomatic troubles with Mexico would
almost certainly have led to hostilities, the war actually came about in a
totally different way.[1]
During the spring and early summer of 1845, in view of Mexican threats and
of reports from trustworthy sources that an invasion of Texas might be
expected,[2] it was decided by our government that when her people should
have accepted our annexation proposal, as they were almost sure to do, it
would become the duty of the United States to defend her;[3] and this decision
made the question where her southern boundary lay a practical matter. It was
a thorny subject. In 1834 Mexico herself did not feel sure about the line; and
according to the chief technical officer in our state department, sole
commissioner to negotiate the treaty of peace with Mexico, if an official
demarcation had existed, the war between Texas and the mother-country had
rubbed it out. The former now claimed the territory as far as the Rio Grande,
but she did not establish her title by occupying completely and effectively the
region south of the Nueces. Only by an agreement with Mexico, indeed,
could limits have been fixed. So far as it concerned the republic of Texas, this
was in effect the situation.[4]
For the United States, however, this was not the whole story. Down to 1819
our government had insisted that Louisiana extended to the Rio Grande. In
other language, since the southern part of Louisiana was called Texas, the
official view was that Texas bordered on that stream. Such, then, was in effect
the contention of Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, John Quincy Adams,
Pinckney, Livingston and Clay, who represented three administrations in
upholding the claim. By the treaty of 1819 we did not withdraw from our
position, but merely arranged to “cede” whatever possessions we had west of
the Sabine for certain valuable considerations. From 1819 to 1845, Texas,
considered under its geographical and historical aspects as a district of old
Louisiana, appeared to border on the Rio Grande not less truly than before,

for no other line became established. Hence it seemed evident from this point
of view, that by annexing Texas we revived our old claim, our old official
view, and the testimony of all those eminent statesmen. Our government so
held. November 10, 1845, in explaining to Slidell the extent of Texas,
Buchanan went back to Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Pinckney and the
discussion of the Louisiana boundary. Polk, as the head of our government,
could not well repudiate, simply on his own authority, the solemn
declarations of Presidents and other high officials, in which through a term of
years the nation had acquiesced. The fact that for a considerable time the
Texans, asserting the Rio Grande line, had maintained themselves against
Mexico perhaps had some confirmatory value; and Polk was further bound,
not only by his apparently sincere belief in our old claim, but by the pledge
he had given to Texas and the pledge our official representative had given her,
expressly to promote the cause of annexation, that he would maintain the
claim as President. These were grips of steel.[5]
To meet the responsibility thus incurred, we had eight
THE UNITED
STATES ARMY regiments of infantry, four of “artillery” and two of
dragoons, including about 7200 men. The “artillery”
regiments, which were theoretically expected to serve in fortifications with
heavy guns, were armed, equipped and drilled as infantry; but one company
of each had a field battery, and under the instruction of excellent officers had
reached a high state of skill in using it. The infantry and cavalry, drilled on
the French system, were in a good condition generally, though division
among coast and frontier stations, besides impairing discipline and efficiency,
had prevented manoeuvring in large bodies; and the infantry soldiers in
particular, inured on the border to hard service, felt now a reasonable
confidence in themselves and their immediate superiors. The forty-five
capable engineer officers understood their duties fairly well, except that a
lack of men to execute operations had left them, as the head of the corps
admitted, too much like theoretical mariners. A few well-trained
topographical engineers, a small medical staff, and a quartermaster’s
department rounded out this miniature army. Nearly all the infantry carried
flint-lock muskets, and numerous defects and deficiencies existed; but
probably the forces were better equipped for service than has generally been
supposed. In view of possible difficulties with Mexico, a disproportionate
share of the troops were placed at or near Fort Jesup on the western border of
Louisiana; and in June, 1845, these included the Third Infantry, eight

companies of the Fourth Infantry, and seven companies of the Second
Dragoons.[6]
Their commander was Brevet Brigadier General Zachary
GENERAL
ZACHARY Taylor. This child of destiny, born in 1784, had grown up
TAYLOR and gained some rudiments of an education amidst the
Indian troubles of the Kentucky border. At the age of
twenty-three he had been commissioned first lieutenant in the Seventh
Infantry, and after showing remarkable coolness and intrepidity in two small
affairs during our second war with England and the Black Hawk War, he had
won a stubborn fight in 1837 against the Seminoles at the head of some 1100
soldiers. Three years later he was assigned to a supervising command in the
southwest, and this included Fort Jesup.[7]
Personally Taylor possessed a strong character, a very strong character,
neither exhausted by self-indulgence nor weakened by refinement and study.
He was every inch a man, with a great heart, a mighty will, a profound belief
in himself, and a profound belief in human nature. The makings of a hero lay
in him, and to a large extent the making had been done. He was gifted, too,
with solid common sense, not a little shrewdness and ambition, a thorough
knowledge of men—the sort of men that he knew at all—a military eye, and a
cool, resourceful intelligence that was always at work in its own rather
ponderous fashion. The sharp gray eyes and the contraction of his brows that
made the upper part of his face look severe were tempered by the benignity of
the lower part; and the occasional glimmer of a twinkle betokened humor.[7]
On the other hand, everything about him suggested the backwoodsman. His
thick-set and rather corpulent body, mounted on remarkably short legs,
typified barbaric strength. In speech he was rough and ungrammatical, in
dress unkempt and even dirty, and in every external of his profession
unmilitary. He never had seen a real battle nor even a real army. Ignorance
and lack of mental discipline made him proud of his natural powers and self-
mastered attainments, and he saw very distinctly the weaknesses of school-
taught and book-taught men. West Pointers, trim in person and in mind but
inferior to him in strength, practical sense and familiarity with men and
things, he felt strongly inclined to belittle; and this feeling went so far that he
despised, or at any rate frequently seemed to despise, knowledge itself. He
could not, however, fail to recognize on occasions the professional superiority
of his trained officers, and no doubt found himself unable now and then to
defend his opinions. In such cases, being by temperament extremely firm, he

naturally took refuge in obstinacy; and sometimes he appears to have been
positively mulish, holding to his own view after he must have seen its
incorrectness.[7]
From various logical results of these limitations Taylor was happily saved by
Major General Winfield Scott, the head of the army, who purposely gave him
Captain W. W. S. Bliss as adjutant general. Bliss was described by a good
authority as the peer of any man alive in learning, statesmanship and military
capacity; and he felt willing to give the General—later his father-in-law—the
unstinted benefit of all his talents and attainments. With him at his elbow
Taylor could be sure of trustworthy information, honest and competent
advice, a friendly hand to supplement or subtract, and a skilful pen to report,
explain and, if necessary, discreetly color the facts. Captain Williams, an able
officer, wrote in 1848 that he could not imagine one man’s being more
indebted to another than Taylor was to his assistant. In other words, “Taylor”
in the history of the Mexican War is the name of a double star, one partner in
which was the dominating personality of the General, and the other a fine,
trained intelligence known as Bliss.[8]
Taylor, then, having been warned by a despatch of May 28, 1845, to hold the
troops in readiness, was confidentially ordered on the fifteenth of June to
place them at some port where they could readily embark for the Texas
frontier, and, after learning that our annexation overture had been accepted, to
occupy “on or near the Rio Grande del Norte” such a position, favorable to
the health of the men, as would be “best adapted to repel invasion.”
Accordingly he concentrated his infantry at New Orleans, where official
notice that annexation had been accepted by Texas reached him. Further
orders from William L. Marcy, the secretary of war, enjoined upon him to
“avoid any Acts of aggression,” and in particular to refrain from disturbing
any Mexican posts on the left bank of the river “unless an actual state of war
should exist”; and under these instructions the forces left New Orleans
toward the end of July for Aransas Bay, Texas. His troops—counting the
dragoons, who set out by land for San Antonio, about 120 miles from the
coast, a little later—numbered some 1500.[9]
Taylor himself with a part of the command reached his destination on the
twenty-fifth; landed his men, with such rapidity as meagre facilities and
heavy surf would permit, on St. Joseph’s Island; and then, with row boats and
small sailing-craft, conveyed them some twenty-five miles farther to Corpus
Christi, a hamlet on the south side of the Nueces River at its mouth. News

that Mexico was on the point of beginning hostilities caused great alarm
presently; but no enemy came, and by the end of August the General felt
secure. The rest of the troops from Fort Jesup were then on the ground. Seven
companies of the Seventh Infantry, collected laboriously from a number of
points, had arrived. Two volunteer artillery companies from New Orleans had
come to the rescue; and a party of Texan rangers were near him. The
Mexicans, on the other hand, showed no signs of concentrating.[10]
Naturally the public inquired whether the occupation of
CONDITIONS AT
CORPUS CHRISTI Corpus Christi, and especially the words “on or near” the
Rio Grande, could be justified. But, as the London Times
—a witness by no means prejudiced in our favor—observed, “When the
United States Government, with the full sanction of the American people,
consummated the annexation of Texas, ... they should, according to all the
usages of civilized Governments, have proceeded to take military means for
the protection of their new frontier.” The performance of this duty involved
giving the commander a somewhat liberal discretion, for southern Texas was
a region of which the Washington authorities knew very little, and what steps
it would be proper for the General to take, should the Mexicans launch a raid
at San Antonio, was known there even less. It would have required about a
month to send information and receive orders based upon it. Authority to
occupy such a post as might seem necessary, in view of the ground, the
vicinity and the news, had to be given. Taylor understood that Corpus Christi,
which belonged to Texas by the same right of effective occupation as
Nacogdoches or Galveston, satisfied the terms of the order; the government
accepted that interpretation; and the country acquiesced.[11]
Gradually his forces assumed rather formidable proportions. Some of the
troops had to come from Detroit, and some from Florida; but it was feared in
all quarters that a heavy Mexican body might cross the Rio Grande any day,
and the reinforcements made quick time. October 13 the army included
General W. J. Worth’s command, called the first brigade, which comprised
the Eighth Infantry and twelve companies of the so-called artillery
consolidated as a battalion; the second brigade, consisting of the Fifth and the
Seventh Infantry under Lieutenant Colonel J. S. McIntosh; the third brigade
under Colonel William Whistler, which included the Third and the Fourth
Infantry; the Second Dragoons, commanded by Colonel D. E. Twiggs; some
United States and New Orleans field artillery, and the Texas rangers. In all,
officers and men, there were about 3900.[12]

Taylor, accustomed to frontier conditions, described his troops as healthy,
remarkably well-behaved and very comfortable. But in reality the tents could
scarcely keep out a heavy dew; for weeks together every article in many of
them was thoroughly soaked; and much of the time water stood three or four
feet deep in some. The weather oscillated sharply between sultry heat and
piercing northers, so that one lay down gasping for breath and woke up
freezing. As hardly enough wood could be obtained for the cooks, camp-fires
were usually out of the question; and only brackish drinking water could be
had. At one time nearly twenty per cent of the men were on the sick list, and
half of the others more or less ill. Taylor knew so little of military evolutions
that he could not get his men properly into line, and few of his chief officers
excelled him very much. Despite orders from the President, military exercises
were given up after a time; a sullen torpor and silence reigned in the camp,
and many deserted. Meanwhile a horde of gamblers and liquor-sellers opened
booths near by; and the soldiers, driven to desperation, paid what little money
they had to be drugged into insensibility or crazed into brawls and orgies.
Some, if not many, of the officers gave up acting like gentlemen, and one at
least even forgot how to be honest.[13]
Then a dispute regarding precedence brought the camp to the verge of battle.
Twiggs had the honor of seniority as colonel; but Worth, as a brevet brigadier
general, insisted that should Taylor cease to hold the command, it would fall
to him. The question was referred to Washington; and Scott, directed by
Marcy to settle it, gave a ruling in favor of brevet rank. This decision did not,
however, end the controversy. More than a hundred officers joined in an
appeal to Congress, while Worth declared he would maintain his rights “to
any extreme.” Taylor, instead of using his personal and official strength to
enforce a modus vivendi until the issue could be properly decided, or at least
refraining from all accentuation of it, ordered a general review, and in spite of
the ruling announced by his superior officer, assigned Twiggs to command on
that occasion; and then, finding that serious trouble would ensue, proved
himself, by countermanding the review, unable to maintain even his own
authority. After all this, discipline could hardly be said to exist. Moreover, a
general want of confidence in the commander prevailed. “Whether an idea,
strategic or of any other description, has had the rudeness to invade the mind
or imagination of our chief is a matter of doubt,” said Worth; “We are literally
a huge body without a head.” If Taylor succeeds, it will be by accident,

concluded Lieutenant Colonel Hitchcock, now commanding the Third
Infantry, who had studied and taught at West Point.[14]
Toward the end of August Marcy wrote: “Should Mexico
THE QUESTION
OF RIGHT assemble a large body of troops on the Rio Grande and
cross it with a considerable force, such a movement must
be regarded as an invasion of the United States and the commencement of
hostilities.” This declaration called forth protests, but was quite fair. By
stationing troops peaceably in the “intermediate region” between the Nueces
and the Rio Grande we only placed ourselves on an equality with Mexico;
and, as we ordered Taylor to leave her posts undisturbed, we showed a
friendly recognition of the principle of pacific joint-occupation during
negotiations. Our forces, to be sure, outnumbered hers, but her attitude made
it unsafe to despatch a smaller representation. Unlike us, Mexico had no
occasion to send an army into that region for defensive purposes. The United
States had shown every sign of desiring peace and none of desiring war, and
at this time was endeavoring to bring about a friendly settlement. Such an
army could not have prevented us from entering the intermediate region, for
at Corpus Christi Taylor was already there; and it could not have saved the
Mexican posts and citizens, for they were not menaced. Mexico, on the other
hand, had threatened us and made open preparations to strike; it was now
understood at Washington that no declaration of war should be expected to
precede a blow; her generals had proclaimed that hostilities were on the point
of beginning; and it was only common sense to assume that, should a
Mexican army cross the Rio Grande, it would come to execute the announced
intention of those who sent it.[15]
During the evening of January 12, 1846, despatches from Slidell and Black
arrived at Washington, and made the rejection of our pacific overture look
almost certain. This unexpected turn of affairs gave new seriousness and fresh
urgency to the Mexican issue; and the next day Taylor was ordered to encamp
on the Rio Grande at whatever point he should consider most advantageous.
He was cautioned, however, against regarding Mexico as an enemy, unless
war should be declared or hostilities be undertaken by her, and against
provoking a conflict by insistence upon the joint navigation of the river,
which our claim implied.[16]
February 3 the General received these instructions, and replied that he should
lose no time. Three days later the army was formally ordered to “be prepared
for a field movement at short notice.” But, although Taylor had been on the

ground for six months, he was “utterly ignorant”—said Hitchcock—of the
way to Matamoros, and had now to investigate the matter. By February 24 he
possessed the necessary data, and ordered the troops to be in readiness to set
out “at forty-eight hours notice”; yet it was not until the eighth of March that
his cavalry, led by the impetuous Twiggs and accompanied by Ringgold’s
handsome battery, actually moved off. The infantry brigades followed at
intervals of a day with Duncan’s and Bragg’s field artillery; and transports
prepared to remove the convalescents, extra baggage and Major Munroe’s
artillery company to Point Isabel, near the mouth of the Rio Grande.[17]
Soon after receiving the instructions to advance, Taylor
THE ADVANCE
TO THE RIO had given notice of his orders to influential citizens of
GRANDE Matamoros then at Corpus Christi, explaining that his
march would be entirely pacific, and that he expected the
pending questions to be settled by negotiation; and similar assurances were
conveyed to the Mexican customhouse office at “Brazos Santiago,” near
Point Isabel. March 8 a more formal announcement appeared in General
Orders No. 30. Taylor here expressed the hope that his movement would be
“beneficial to all concerned,” insisted upon a scrupulous regard for the civil
and religious rights of the people, and commanded that everything required
for the use of the army should be paid for “at the highest market price.” These
orders, which merely anticipated instructions then on their way from
Washington, were translated into Spanish, and placed in circulation along the
border.[18]
To the troops the march proved a refreshing and beneficial change. The
weather was now fine, the road almost free from mud, and the breeze balmy.
Frequently the blue lupine, the gay verbena, the saucy marigold and countless
other bright flowers carpeted the ground. The cactus and the cochineal
excited and gratified curiosity. Ducks and geese often flew up from the line of
advance. Many rabbits and many deer scampered across the plain; and
occasionally wolves, catamounts and panthers were frightened from cover.
Wild horses would gaze for an instant at their cousins in bondage, and then
gallop off, tossing their manes disdainfully; and once a herd of them, spaced
as if to allow room for cannon, were taken for Mexican cavalry. Innumerable
centipedes, tarantulas and rattlesnakes furnished a good deal of interest, if not
of charm. The boundless prairie had somewhat the fascination of the sea; and
occasionally, when a mirage conjured up a range of blue mountains—clothed

with forests and reflected in lakes—that melted presently into the air, one had
a sense of moving on enchanted ground.[19]
To be sure, the march was not entirely agreeable. For about 196 miles it
stretched on and on, and most of the way it lay through deep, sandy plains,
here glistening with salt, and there varied with briny marshes or sticky black
dirt. In some places Mexicans had burned the herbage; and the light ashes,
raised by the tramp of many feet, settled on the soldiers’ faces till they could
scarcely recognize one another. Tortured with thirst, they would occasionally
break ranks pell-mell at the sight of water; but as a rule they found it
brackish. All suffered alike; and we have a picture of Taylor himself
breakfasting at the door of his tent with a mess-chest for table, his rugged
countenance flaming with sunburn, his long lips cracked and raw, and his
long nose white with peeling skin. But the experience, even at its worst,
proved a wholesome tonic after the degeneration of Corpus Christi.[19]
March 20 the army came to the Arroyo Colorado, a salt lagoon about a
hundred yards wide and three or four feet deep. Here General Mejía, the
commander at Matamoros, who knew all about our troops and their
movements, had intended to win a sheaf of laurels; but orders from his
government, not quite ready for action, arrived in time to curb this ambition.
He concluded then to try the effect of a ruse, and his officer convinced the
Americans, with solemn warnings, bugle-calls here and there, and a clever
showing of heads among the bushes and trees on the southern side of the
lagoon, that a hard fight would result from attempting to cross it. But without
the least hesitation Taylor prepared for battle. Ringgold’s pieces were made
ready. Worth dashed into the stream at the head of an advance party; and on
gaining, unopposed, the opposite bank, he saw—dust in the atmosphere, and
far away a dozen small black specks rapidly growing smaller. But morally it
was a victory; and the troops, though cheated, felt encouraged.[20]
March 23, after making fifteen miles across a clear, dry prairie, the army
came to a road that led to Matamoros, about eighteen miles away on the right,
and to Point Isabel, distant nine or ten on the other side; and Taylor, ordering
Worth and the infantry to camp and watch for the enemy at a suitable place in
the former direction, proceeded to the coast with his cavalry. There he found
the transports in sight and the wind favorable. Defences were planned at
once; and on the 27th, leaving an engineer, supported by a guard under
Munroe, to superintend the construction of them, the General returned to the
army, then some ten miles from Matamoros. The next morning all advanced,

and soon came to rough defiles. On each side bristled what a soldier
described as an irregular, impenetrable mass of “scraggly, scrubby, crooked,
infernally illegitimate and sin-begotten bushy trees loaded with millions of
thornpins”—that is to say, chaparral. Passing this and a few cabins in the
midst of corn, cotton and pomegranates, the troops found themselves at the
end of their march, Río Bravo, the “Bold river of the North,” brown with
mud, rolled swift and boiling at their feet; and in plain view about half a mile
distant—black with crowded house-tops, gay with flags, and noisy with
bugles and barking dogs—lay Matamoros. A rude pole was soon raised; to
the music of our national airs the colors went up; and a small masked battery
of field guns was planted near them.[21]
A singular political game then took place between Taylor and Mejía. The
former did everything possible to convince the Mexican general that his
movement was entirely pacific, and offered to “enter into any arrangements
to secure the peace and harmony of the frontier” during negotiations between
the two governments; but the latter insisted over and over again that a state of
war had been created by the American advance. In spite of this Taylor
reminded his officers of the “essentially pacific” and “conciliatory” intentions
of the army; yet at the same time he reported the Mexican attitude as
distinctly hostile, asked for reinforcements, mounted four 18-pounders to
command the city, and about April 7 began what came to be known as Fort
Brown, a large, bastioned “field-work” opposite the lower end of the city.[22]
On April 11 General Ampudia, the assassin of Sentmanat,
THE MEXICAN
ATTITUDE arrived at Matamoros to assume the chief command,
accompanied by cavalry and followed, as the Americans
understood, by two or three thousand more troops. The next day he signalized
his advent by ordering Taylor to decamp at once for the other side of the
Nueces—a proposal to which a courteous negative was returned—and by
compelling all the Americans in the city, “under open threats of violence,” to
leave town within twenty-four hours. Taylor retaliated by requesting our
naval commander off the Rio Grande to stop the use of that stream. As the
Mexican attitude made it impossible for us to have the joint navigation
implied by our claim, this appeared reasonable; but essentially the measure
was defensive, since without supplies coming by water a large force could not
remain long at Matamoros. When Ampudia complained, the General pointed
out that sealing up the river was only the “natural result of the state of war so
much insisted on by the Mexican authorities as actually existing,” and offered

to reopen it if Ampudia would join him in maintaining an armistice during the
negotiations of the two governments; but this led to no result.[23]
Ampudia’s orders and intention had been to attack the Americans as soon as
possible, but his glorious prospects darkened immediately. Though given the
place of Major General Arista, long at the head of military affairs in this
quarter, because he supported the revolution of Paredes while Arista not only
frowned upon it, but seemed to aim at making northeastern Mexico
independent, Ampudia was detested and thought incompetent—an opinion he
did not share—by not a few in the northern army, whereas Arista stood high
in his caste, and, as a person of wealth and position, had strong friends well
able to make trouble for the central government. Consequently an order dated
April 4 made Arista commander-in-chief with Ampudia as lieutenant. The
latter was immediately forbidden to shine on the field of glory, and, finding
his officers would not support him in disobedience, he submitted.[24]
Arista, however, bearing instructions dated April 4 to attack the Americans,
reached the scene on the 24th, and ordered his cavalry general, Torrejón, to
cross above Matamoros with about 1600 men. Hearing a rumor of this
movement, Taylor sent Captain Thornton and about sixty dragoons late that
afternoon to reconnoitre; and the next morning, some twenty-eight miles
from camp, finding himself completely shut in by overwhelming forces, the
Captain tried to break through, lost several men killed and wounded, and then
with all the rest surrendered. This was war. “Hostilities have begun,”
announced Arista on the day of his arrival. “Hostilities may now be
considered as commenced,” reported Taylor on the 26th; and—besides
advising Polk to organize twelve-months volunteers—he at once called upon
Texas and Louisiana for about 5000 men.[25]

REASONS FOR
It was a tragic and most regrettable dénouement; yet, on a
POLK’S COURSE close review of all the data now accessible, one does not
find it easy to censure Polk. If he had wished and
meditated war from the first, why did he work for an amicable settlement
through Parrott, Black and Slidell? For the sake of appearances, many said.
But in the first place we have found that Polk was honest in those
negotiations; and, in the second, had war been his aim and appearances his
care, he would not have permitted the order of January 13 to be issued that
day. On January 12 it looked at Washington as if the question of receiving
Slidell would soon be decided. The President could afford to wait a little, and
he would have done this, for it was clear that an unnecessary military step,

taken while he was extending the olive branch, would needlessly make him
appear either treacherous or ridiculous. Moreover if he sought a war, he knew
on January 12 that matters were shaping themselves to his taste; that Mexico
was almost sure to close the door of negotiation soon; and consequently that
he would soon be able to demand of Congress the forcible redress of our
grievances.[26]
Here lay a casus belli amply endorsed by international law, the practice of
civilized powers, and the general opinion of the world. It was a ground, too,
that Polk himself, as we have seen, felt entirely satisfied to stand upon, and
one that our people, feeling as they did, would almost certainly have
accepted. Having, then, apparently within his reach a pretext for war that
almost everybody thought good, he would not have exerted himself to obtain
one that almost everybody thought bad; and in fact—evidently expecting no
event of decisive importance to occur near the Rio Grande—he went on day
after day with his plan to lay our grievances before Congress, until news of
the attack on Thornton burst upon Washington like a rocket. On the
hypothesis that he had wished and meditated war from the first and merely
stuck at appearances, his conduct was therefore irrational; and, besides, we
have seen adequate reasons for believing that he desired peace.[26]
Discarding that hypothesis, however, leaves us the important question, How
did the idea of sending Taylor forward present itself to Polk? First, then, from
his point of view it seemed entirely permissible. A proprietor is not debarred
from going where a squatter has built a cabin; and in the light of our official
claim and arguments Mexican occupation above the Rio Grande was merely
by sufferance. The so-called “provocative act” of pointing guns at Matamoros
could not be charged against the government, for Marcy had suggested other
points also for Taylor’s camp, leaving the choice to him. It was a defensive
measure adopted by the General for military reasons in conjunction with
pacific assurances and proposals; and we learn from Arista and others that it
had a sedative effect on the property owners of that flimsily built city and on
the army authorities.[27]
No encroachment upon the powers of Congress appeared to be involved. Had
Polk’s aim been, as Calhoun alleged, to establish a boundary, he could not
have tolerated Mexican posts, for the troops of foreign states cannot be
permitted to sojourn within our officially defined limits. Besides, Polk had
sent Slidell to treat on this very question, and Slidell had not given up the
task. Though it rested with Congress to declare war, a President could legally,

in the exercise of his discretion, take steps liable to bring about hostilities.
Moreover Congress appeared to have authorized Taylor’s movement. Corpus
Christi, claimed by Tamaulipas, had been made an American port of delivery.
A collection district had been established in the intermediate region. The
declaration of Polk’s Message, December, 1845, that our jurisdiction had
been extended to the Rio Grande, and Marcy’s appended report, which
announced that Taylor’s instructions were to regard that stream as our
boundary, had raised no storm. For six months, admitted the chief Whig
organ, our doings in this field not only had appeared to be endorsed by the
people, but had gone on openly without calling forth “a single question from
any public authority.” Officially notified of the military occupation of Corpus
Christi, Congress, instead of protesting, had voted supplies for the troops.
Finally, Congress had instructed the Executive, in the resolutions for
annexing Texas, to reach an agreement with Mexico regarding the boundary;
it was his duty to persevere in the attempt until convinced he could not
succeed; and Taylor’s advance, as will presently be seen, appeared to him a
proper step in the discharge of this obligation.[28]
Familiar precedents and principles were believed to sanction the movement
of our troops. In 1794 Washington had ordered Wayne to conduct hostilities
in disputed territory, and had threatened to destroy a British fort there. In
accordance with a resolution of Congress, Madison had seized the “Florida
parishes” claimed by Spain. Just before Taylor was ordered to move, Hilliard
informed the House of Representatives that England had magistrates in the
southern part of Oregon; and John Quincy Adams proposed to take military
possession of that disputed territory before concluding negotiations. If such a
method could be employed in dealing with countries willing to treat, very
naturally—in the case of one that had pronounced for war—pacific
occupation, leaving the competing jurisdiction undisturbed, seemed fully
justifiable.[29]
Taylor’s advance appeared also to be highly expedient. For one thing, our
claim upon the intermediate region would have been weakened, had we
refrained from sharing with Mexico in the occupation of it. For another, it
seemed wise to place ourselves in a strategic position that would be of great
value, should Mexico’s threat of war be carried into effect. And for a third it
was believed that a bold military attitude, indicating that at last the United
States had made up its mind, would count with Mexico as a strong argument
for negotiation. Such was the opinion of Parrott, Slidell, Worth, Taylor, Scott,

Archer, now chairman of the Senate committee on foreign relations, Brantz
Mayer, formerly secretary of legation at Mexico, Polk himself, the
administration circle in general, and well-informed persons outside it.
January 17 Conner was ordered to assemble all his vessels and exhibit them
off Vera Cruz—evidently in pursuance of this design. The government organ
stated, and opposition writers conceded, that such a purpose was in view.[30]
But essentially, as already has been suggested, Taylor’s advance rested on the
necessity of military defence; and indeed there is reason to consider Scott the
prime factor in the business, for the order of January 13 was based upon, and
in part verbally reproduced, a “projet” submitted by him, whereas Polk’s
diary for January 12 and 13 does not even allude to the subject. Now not only
were defensive measures called for on general principles, as we have just
been informed by the London Times, but the Texans actually and urgently
needed a sheltering arm. During the latter part of 1845 the chief Mexican
engineers drew detailed plans for crossing, not only the Rio Grande, but the
Sabine. Merely the refusal of Paredes, growing out of his revolutionary
designs, to reinforce the troops on the frontier with 2400 men prevented an
attack at this time. Almonte, who had particularly recommended incursions
into Texas, held the post of war minister in January, 1846. The Mexican
troops were extremely mobile. Ampudia’s main force, at the end of a long
march, did 180 miles in four days. Screened by rancheros and living on a
little corn and jerked beef carried in their pouches, a body of light cavalry
could have reached San Antonio by way of Laredo, ruined the town, and been
well on their way toward home before their movement would have been
suspected at Corpus Christi. The government received warnings of this
danger from Dimond and from Parrott in 1845; Marcy and Polk feared it; and
the probable rejection of Slidell—which meant a triumph of the war party—
seemed likely to accentuate the peril. In fact Mejía ordered irregulars into
Texas on February 16 and March 17, though, as their commander aspired to
execute a revolution with American aid, he did us no harm.[31]
Nor were only such formal incursions to be guarded against. The war of 1836
in Texas had shown what outrages Mexicans were capable of committing,
and similar affairs had now begun to occur. In one instance a party of fifteen,
including women, after having been induced to surrender, were all butchered
except a single person, who survived though seriously wounded. In April,
1846, the Mexicans opposite Matamoros confessed that bloodthirsty guerillas
were abroad. Ampudia, whose murderous record had been his chief

distinction, commanded there. May 13 the British consul in that city reported
that licensed bands of assassins, “caressed, rewarded, and encouraged” by the
authorities, were committing atrocities near the Rio Grande; and, had the way
been open, such gangs might have robbed and murdered in the settlements of
Texas.[32]
The position selected by Taylor was admirably suited to this emergency.
Scott, though a Whig, wrote out a long explanation, showing that on the Rio
Grande the army had a more healthful camp than before, better drinking
water, more abundant fuel, better grazing and a better port. Information could
be obtained more quickly; the border watched more closely; an invading
force pursued more promptly; and its line of retreat cut more certainly.
Besides, the river amounted to a great breastwork, for this part of it could be
crossed with safety at only certain points, and a body of men, even though
comparatively small, could not cross anywhere on its lower course without
peril. It was not, however, simply that the Rio Grande position seemed far the
best. The nature of the region made it essential. Taylor had to be in that
vicinity or else near Corpus Christi, and for purposes of defence the latter
point could not be deemed satisfactory. Now the necessity of defence was
entirely due to the threatening conduct of Mexico. Therefore she could not
reasonably complain of our precautions; and if she could not complain, then
no one could do so in her name.[33]
But the challenge was triumphantly thrown out: Can it be denied that our
taking a position on the river did in fact cause the war? In view of the data it
can and should be denied. First, joint occupation of the disputed region might
have gone on peaceably, as occupation of that character has continued
elsewhere, but for a distinctly aggressive step on the part of Mexico; and,
secondly, for her the Rio Grande had no particular significance. She claimed
all of Texas, and intended to drive us from it, if she could. Furthermore, the
crass vanity and ambition of Mexican generals and the exigencies of
domestic politics would probably have led to an attack upon us, had Taylor
remained at Corpus Christi, or even pitched his camp at San Antonio. In spite
of express orders, Mejía actually attempted an offensive in the intermediate
region. When the Mexican government gave formal notice to England and
France in the summer of 1845 that war had become inevitable, our army lay
far from the Rio Grande. Taylor’s advance to the Bold River no more
produced the war than Pitcairn’s march to Lexington produced the American
revolution. It was an effect and an occasion, but not a cause.[34]

Finally, as a matter of fact, the hostilities were
MEXICO THE
AGGRESSOR deliberately precipitated by the will and act of Mexico.
The circumstances proved this and testimony illuminates
them. In October, 1847, a pamphlet written by Mariano Otero, editor of El
Siglo XIX and Senator from the state of Jalisco, appeared. His object was by
no means to defend the United States, but he said: “The American forces did
not advance to the Rio Grande until after the war became inevitable, and then
only as an army of observation.... The military rebellion of San Luis [Potosí]
gave rise to a government [that of Paredes] pledged to resist all
accommodation [with the United States] ... which government ... began
hostilities.” Arista declared in December, 1847, “I had the pleasure of being
the first to begin the war.” In short, Polk told only the truth when he said the
conflict was forced upon us. Mexico wanted it; Mexico threatened it; Mexico
issued orders to wage it; and on April 18 her President, no doubt in view of
his political difficulties, insisted upon those orders. “It is indispensable,” he
wrote urgently to Arista, “that hostilities begin, yourself taking the
initiative.”[35]
“If in a litigious affair,” declared Vattel, “our adversary refuses the means of
bringing the right to proof, or artfully eludes it; if he does not, with good
faith, apply to pacific measures for terminating the difference, and above all,
if he is the first who begins acts of hostility, he renders just [even] the cause
which was before doubtful.” Every condition of this judgment fitted the
course of Mexico.[36]

VIII
PALO ALTO, RESACA DE LA PALMA
May, 1846

The Mexico of 1845 had an elaborate military
THE MEXICAN
ARMY organization. In addition to the comandantes general—
regularly one in each department or state—there were six
generals at the head of the six military Divisions in which the political
divisions of the country had been grouped. The college at Chapultepec
provided a full course of instruction for officers; and though it seemed hardly
worth while to spend three years there in order to become a second lieutenant,
when one could leap at once into a captaincy or something better by acting as
the tool of a revolting general, there were never less than one hundred
students.[1]
At the head of the army stood a sort of general staff called the plana mayor;
but the duties of this inefficient body fell mostly to the engineers, some of
whom possessed excellent qualifications, while others—admitted to the corps
for political or personal reasons—did not. The artillery, which included
nominally four brigades with fourteen batteries, suffered from this all-
pervading evil and also from defects of its own. Many of the guns had come
down from olden times, though a large number of the field pieces equalled
any the United States possessed; not a few were honeycombed; and the
carriages were mostly of the old Gribeauval pattern. To convey ammunition,
carts had to be obtained when needed. For the transportation of ordnance,
mules or oxen were usually hired by contract; and, as the drivers had no
acquaintance with artillery drill and tactics, battery evolutions were out of the
question, and guns could be moved but slowly, if at all, during an
engagement.[1]
The so-called Permanent infantry consisted substantially of three Light
(Ligero) and twelve Line regiments, and there were also twenty-five Active
(Activo) corps, large or small, which, though originally designed as a sort of
reserve to be called out in emergencies, were now constantly under arms.
Owing to the great extent of the country the regiments were broken into

sections, which assumed to be independent; and for this reason drill,
discipline and esprit de corps suffered greatly. Training and equipment left
much to be desired. When four simple manoeuvres were understood, soldiers
were pronounced perfect. For arms almost all the infantry had flint-lock
muskets, many of which had been discarded by the British army. Firing from
the hip to avoid the recoil marred their aim; and, partly in consequence of
using too much powder, they generally fired high. Of horse there were ten
Permanent and five Activo regiments besides numerous minor units. The
cavalry included also nearly fifty Presidial companies, originally designed to
guard the frontier against Indian raids; but these had almost vanished except
in name, and the remnants were extremely inefficient. The mounted men
carried in general a sword and a sort of blunderbuss called the escopeta, but
many used lances instead of swords. About 3000 Coast Guards are also to be
mentioned, but as a rule they were expected merely to defend the ports where
they lived and the immediate vicinity. In all there may have been 32,000 men
under arms in 1845.[1]
The medical corps suffered at all times from the low quality of its personnel
and from its defective equipment; and the accommodations for surgeons in a
campaign were so poor that many found pretexts for remaining behind when
their corps took the field. The commissaries had peculiar difficulties to meet.
A Mexican army drew supplies from places near it and not from government
dépôts; and when money failed, as it often did, payments had to be made with
drafts on the treasury, which possessed an uncertain value. Hence people
often would not part with supplies, the troops went hungry, and the natural
tendency toward inefficiency and desertion was accentuated. In order to
release the army from service in the interior, when hostilities became
imminent in 1845, it was decided to organize volunteer corps; but almost
every one, however anxious to see the United States chastised, preferred to let
somebody else do the work.[1]
Mexico, then, did not exactly rise en masse to sweep Taylor away,[2] yet the
forces gathered at Matamoros could be termed respectable. Arista seems to
have had about 175 artillerymen, 3500 infantry, 1100 cavalry, 425 irregular
horse under General Antonio Canales and some 500 Matamoros volunteers—
in all, say, 5700 men including officers and ineffectives. His first brigade
consisted of infantry led by García, a fine man and officer; the second, also
infantry, had Vega, a brave and patriotic soldier, for commander; and the third
brigade, cavalry, was under Torrejón, who possessed one excellent quality—

the instinct of self-preservation. Canales could be described succinctly as a
border ruffian and conspirator; and Ampudia, second in general command,
was about the same thing plus a cosmopolitan varnish.[3]
After news of Taylor’s intention to advance reached
MEXICAN
PREPARATIONS Matamoros, the Mexicans worked most zealously in
AT MATAMOROS constructing fortifications there, and by the end of April
had a series of earthworks. Just above the city was erected
Fort Paredes, laid out in regular style for 800 men, which guarded the ferry of
Las Anacuitas. Two redoubts, crossing their fires, were planted opposite Fort
Brown at a distance of seven or eight hundred yards; and two or three minor
forts commanded approaches. Gabions or wicker-work strengthened the
embrasures, and fascines and sand-bags were freely used. No guns heavier
than 12-pounders defended the works, and no platforms were laid; but in
general the ordnance was of brass, well cared for though somewhat
honeycombed.[4]
For a number of reasons the garrison felt confident. Through deserters and
spies they knew as much as they were capable of understanding about the
American army. To Mejía our general seemed “more contemptible than the
lowest of Mexican tailors,” and to Ampudia “an absolute nullity.” The martial
Worth, who did impress them, left the front at the beginning of April because
Polk decided against him on the question of brevet rank. Hitchcock had been
compelled to go north on sick leave. For some good reason every infantry
colonel and many others in high positions were absent. One regiment had not
a field officer, and in another only a single company could boast a captain.
Personally the officers in general were believed to lack harmony and zeal,
and the men to be discontented, hopeless, unwilling to fight, and enfeebled by
their hardships and misbehavior at Corpus Christi. According to Mexican
reports our cavalry could neither shoot nor control their hard-bitted horses,
and our infantry, chiefly composed—except the officers—of needy
foreigners, came short in discipline, training and every other soldierly
qualification save appetite. “Those adventurers cannot withstand the bayonet
charge of our foot,” said Mejía, “nor a cavalry charge with the lance.”[5]

MATAMOROS AND FORT BROWN SKETCH MAP

No very alarming degree of intelligence had appeared to direct the American
operations. Our troops were on a point exposed to a convergent fire; Fort
Brown enfiladed none of the hostile batteries, though it might have been
planned to do this; near the cavalry camp stood thick groves offering shelter
to assailants; behind our main position was a lagoon forming—with a bend of
the river—almost a circle; and the enemy, once in possession of the single
road, which ran for seven or eight miles through rough country, would have
had the army in a bottle. All the ammunition and provisions were brought by
wagon from the coast, exposed to attack at every step. The imperfectly
fortified base at Point Isabel, stored with indispensable supplies, had a
garrison of only two companies aside from two or three hundred sutlers,
clerks, teamsters and the like; and vessels could approach the landing only by

a narrow passage between two islands, which could have been closed by a
few 6-pounders. Yet we should have encouraged Mexico beyond calculation,
and might have been injured greatly in Europe, had we now given up Fort
Brown.[6]
A number of small disasters overtook the Americans. Colonel Cross, chief of
the quartermaster’s department, went out and never came back. April 22
Lieutenant Porter and ten men, operating against the banditti, allowed their
arms to get wet, and were scattered with loss by a party of Mexicans. Twenty
of the Texas rangers commanded by Captain Walker permitted themselves to
be surprised, and half of them were either killed or driven beyond recall.
Taylor attributed these mishaps to a lack of experience, but the enemy
regarded them as proofs of inferiority; and when Thornton’s party
succumbed, the enthusiasm burst all bounds. “Honor and glory a thousand
and one times” to the “brave men” of the army, cried a Tampico leaflet, and a
triumph in the anticipated battle appeared certain.[7]
From another source also the Mexicans drew
MEXICAN
CONFIDENCE encouragement. While Taylor’s officers were nearly all
West Pointers and perhaps quite all native Americans,
many of the privates were in fact of European birth and a large percentage
Roman Catholics. To these Mejía, Ampudia and Arista issued moving appeals
based upon religious prejudice and alleged foreign condemnation of our
course toward Mexico, gilded with generous promises of rewards for
deserting, supported by the luring voices of gayly dressed sirens who lined
the opposite bank of the river all day, and reinforced by two captured
American dragoons, who were given back, and reported that deserters
received handsome treatment. A considerable number of men, largely veteran
offenders from the British army, stole across; most of the Seventh Infantry
were believed ready to change sides; and the Mexicans boasted exultingly
that “Old Taylor” himself would soon be over.[8]
Arista, who had spent several years in the United States, did not feel very
sanguine. Ampudia’s predictions of glory he regarded as “castles in the air,”
or as perhaps intended to raise expectations that Ampudia’s successor would
be unable to satisfy. But the officers and the troops felt impatient for combat.
So loudly and so long had the charges of haughtiness, perfidy, aggressiveness
and greed been reiterated against us, that all believed them true. The
Americans were in their eyes accursed heretics, eager to trample under foot
their holy religion: and they were also barbarians, capable of everything

rough and cruel. In the event of their success the family hearth was to be
polluted, the glorious, dearly-bought independence of the nation crushed, and
the adored accents of the mother-tongue stifled. To the Indian rank and file
the word “patriotism,” indeed, meant little; but they loved their villages, and
could imagine even worse tyrants than Mexicans. The name “foreigner” had a
terrible sound in their ears, and fanatical devotion to the Roman church set
their passionate natures aflame. At the first sight of the “detestable” Stars and
Stripes fluttering in the breeze, they had loudly demanded battle, and later the
confident hope of triumph gave a still keener edge to their enthusiasm. Taylor
evidently despised the enemy, believing there was no fight in them; but those
tawny fellows, though miserably clothed and apparently spiritless, were
trained to “blind obedience,” could fight like devils while their strength and
fury lasted, and had now reached a good state of discipline. Even Captain
Hardee of Thornton’s command, a prisoner at large in Matamoros, believed
the Mexicans would gain the coming battle.[9]
One of Taylor’s most obvious needs in taking post on the Rio Grande was a
light corps available for scouting, and in ordering him to advance, Marcy had
expressly authorized him to call upon the Texans—by whom legs were
valued chiefly as the means of sticking to a horse—for assistance; but nothing
was done about the matter. On April 11 a friend in Matamoros warned him
that an attempt might be made to cut his line to Point Isabel, but he did not
seem to feel concerned. His troops were merely drawn beyond the effective
range of Ampudia’s artillery; the work of fortifying was quickened; on the
23d he described the fort complacently as “in a condition of defence”; and a
week later he contented himself with having the road inspected for seven
miles. Point Isabel, he said as early as April 12, could withstand attack.[10]

Fort Brown to Brazos Island

Arista, for his part, decided quite naturally, while on his way to Matamoros,
that he would plant himself on the American line of communication, and
prevent our army from receiving ammunition, provisions and reinforcements.
Accordingly the 1600 men under Torrejón, after disposing of Thornton’s
command, passed Fort Brown, held the road for some days without the
knowledge of Taylor, and then by a grave blunder were drawn away, and
concentrated on the Rio Grande opposite Longoreño, eight or ten miles below
the city, to protect the crossing of the other troops, who proceeded to that
point by several routes in order to deceive the Americans. The last day of the
month Ampudia with his brigade and four guns went over; and on May 1
Arista—leaving Mejía with about 1400 men to hold Matamoros—followed
with his other brigade and eight pieces. Unfortunately for him three scows of
little capacity were the only boats available; and as these had been taken to
Longoreño in carts by a circuitous route nearly fifteen miles in length, so as
to avoid exciting our suspicions, they were not in good order. One or two, in
fact, seem to have been almost useless, and hence many precious hours were
lost; but at any rate the army succeeded in crossing a swift river without
injury almost under the eyes of the Americans.[11]
By about one o’clock in the afternoon on the first of May
TAYLOR
Taylor heard that Mexicans were below him, and awoke.

ALARMED He saw now that Fort Brown required munitions and
food, and that Point Isabel could not, even yet, resist a
serious attack. Tents came down in haste; the wagon train was made ready;
and at about half-past three—leaving behind the Seventh Infantry
commanded by Major Brown, with Captain Lowd’s four 18-pounders,
Lieutenant Bragg’s field battery and the sick, under orders to hold out as long
as possible—Taylor marched for the coast. No time was lost in getting there.
The troops bivouacked that night on the damp, chilly plain without fires, and
early the next morning set out again. The shallow, greenish-brown lagoons
rimmed with broad, flat, oozing banks of mud, the marshes full of tawny
grass, and the low ridges mottled with patches of herbage and bald surfaces
of gleaming dry dirt, seemed interminable; but as hours passed the now sultry
air began to be streaked with salt odors, and by noon the panting troops
caught the sparkle of blue waves. Fortunately they could not hear the shouts
of joy in Matamoros over what was called their precipitate flight.[12]
As it was necessary to strengthen the defences, all the troops now exchanged
their muskets for picks and shovels. May 6 the engineer in charge was
authorized to continue the work by employing a hundred laborers; and at
about three o’clock the next day, escorting more than 200 loaded wagons, the
little army, preceded by a body of dragoons, moved out on the return march.
As the small garrison of Fort Brown had provisions for at least three weeks,
and the Mexicans could not be expected to attack it seriously with Taylor
approaching their rear, whereas they were practically sure to be met on the
road, Taylor’s best officers entreated him to gain freedom of action by leaving
the train behind, which at most would have delayed it only a day or so; but he
would not. No fears disturbed his mind. Reinforced with perhaps 200 men
just landed at the Point, the army now with him numbered 2228, all told.
Recent exercise and drill had left it in a splendid physical condition.
Recollecting how long popular orators had been mocking at the “regulars,” it
longed to do something. The attacks upon Cross, Walker, Porter and Thornton
had exasperated its temper; nothing could have pleased the great majority of
the soldiers better than a fight; and the General felt very much the same way.
[13]

When it had made about seven miles the army bivouacked, and early the next
day it resumed the march. Soon after noon, when some ten or twelve miles
more had been covered, a low, dark line could be seen across the plain in
front, some two or three miles away. It was the Mexican army. As the pond or

water-hole of Palo Alto lay near, the tired and thirsty troops were permitted to
halt, rest a little, drink and fill their canteens; and then Taylor had them
posted in order of battle. At the extreme right the Fifth Infantry led by
Lieutenant Colonel McIntosh was placed, and on its left in succession came
Major Ringgold’s battery, the Third Infantry (Captain Morris), two 18-
pounders on siege carriages under Lieutenant Churchill, and the Fourth
Infantry (Major Allen). The Third and Fourth made up a brigade, commanded
by Lieutenant Colonel Garland; and all the troops just mentioned, together
with Twiggs’s dragoons, some 250 strong, in two squadrons led by Captains
Kerr and May, formed the right wing. The other wing, known as the first
brigade and commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Belknap, consisted of the
Artillery Battalion under Lieutenant Colonel Childs, Captain Duncan’s
battery, and the Eighth Infantry, posted in this order from right to left. The
wagons were then assembled near the pond at the side of some woods, and
Kerr was detached with his squadron to guard them.[14]

BATTLE OF PALO ALTO
May 8, 1846

During these days Arista had waited for Taylor’s return;
BATTLE OF PALO
ALTO but, in order to hasten that and perhaps accomplish direct
results, he had ordered the guns of Matamoros to begin
cannonading Fort Brown on the morning of May 3, and two days later,
believing the garrison were near starvation, sent Ampudia to invest it. For the
sake of water and to cover all of the roads that might be taken by the
American army, he placed himself at Los Tanques del Ramireño; and about
noon on the eighth, learning of Taylor’s approach, he set out for Palo Alto,
some five miles away. Shortly before gaining that point he saw through his
glass blue American dragoons in the far distance, and, as quickly as he could,
put his troops in position. At the extreme right were placed about 150 horse
under Noriega, and then came a 4-pounder, a corps of Sappers, the Second
Light Infantry, the Tampico Veteran Company and Coast Guards, five 4-
pounders, the First, the Sixth and the Tenth Infantry, and finally, beyond an
interval of about 400 yards and somewhat in advance, Torrejón and the rest of
the cavalry—their front extended, their right strengthened with two small
guns, and their left reaching beyond the Point Isabel road to a piece of
chaparral on a slight elevation beside a swamp. In the rear of the line were
some thickets; just behind the right wing an eminence eighteen or twenty feet
high rose above chaparral; protected by this lay a watering-place; and in front
there were some boggy pools and wide fields of stiff grass almost shoulder-
high.[14]
As soon as formed, the Americans advanced in silence—the 18-pounders,
drawn by oxen, following the road—while Lieutenant Blake reconnoitred the
Mexican line within musket range to look for artillery. At about two o’clock
Ampudia came in sight with the Fourth Infantry, commanded by Colonel
Uraga, a company of Sappers, two 8-pounders, and about 400 irregular horse
under Canales. Upon this Arista and his staff, a blaze of gold lace, passed
rapidly down the line. It seemed strange to find in his position a tall, raw-
boned man with red hair and sandy whiskers; but he showed the martial
bearing of his nation, and harangued the troops with genuine Mexican
eloquence. They were found ready for battle. Answering him with loud vivas
they made ready their arms. The silken banners fluttered; the bands played;
and at about half-past two or three o’clock, by the General’s order, his
artillery opened. The hostile armies were then approximately half a mile
apart; and the Mexicans—drawn out, except the cavalry, only two deep on a

front about a mile in length without reserves—seemed to number 6000,
though probably not more than two thirds as many.[14]
Apparently Taylor’s plan had been to force a passage by charging, for his aim
was to reach Fort Brown, and his infantry had been instructed, the day before,
to rely mainly on the bayonet; but he now halted. All his infantry except the
Eighth regiment deployed into line. At strange words of command—“Haw,
Brindle!” “Whoa, Brandy!”—ten yoke of oxen wheeled each ammunition
wagon into its place; and the cannon advanced. At this juncture Ampudia’s
column approached the field. Canales led his men a considerable distance
forward into the scattered chaparral on the Mexican left, probably with a
view to cutting off Taylor’s retreat, and thus put himself entirely out of the
battlefield; but the rest of the command proceeded toward their appointed
place between Torrejón and the infantry, and as this movement appeared to
mean a charge, the American fire was turned in that direction. Without
faltering, however, they moved up to the line and deployed, but their route
was marked with the fallen.[14]
Now ensued about an hour of cannonading, supported by our troops with
shouts that often drowned the roar of the guns, and endured by the Mexicans
with unfailing constancy. Arista’s pieces, though bravely and skilfully served,
were mostly too light. The balls generally fell short, and as they ricocheted,
our men stepped aside. But the American practice met every hope.
Sometimes a single shot appeared to mow down a whole platoon of mounted
men; and here, there, everywhere gaps opened in the infantry. With vivas the
gaps instantly closed, but they would not stay closed.[14]
Arista, a bold and experienced officer, expecting Taylor to act on such a plan
as Taylor seems actually to have formed, intended to charge both flanks of the
advancing Americans with cavalry supported by infantry; but the American
artillery surprised him almost as much as if Taylor had used shooting stars.
Probably the right course for him would have been to attack anyhow, for his
men were still eager to fight, a cannon could be discharged only about once a
minute, and our batteries would not have done much more harm at 70 than at
700 yards. But apparently it seemed impracticable to wallow slowly for such
a distance through the grass, the sharp edges of which would have cut the
legs of his poorly dressed soldiers badly, under so withering a fire. Something
had to be done, however, for the troops grew impatient. He therefore directed
his right wing to prepare for a charge, and ordered Torrejón and his two small
guns to attack the American right, rear and wagons. Reluctantly Torrejón

obeyed. Passing to the left, his “red lancers”—probably a thousand strong
and “portentous” with trumpets, banners and lance points—advanced through
the scattered chaparral and across a slough, becoming somewhat broken on
the way, and found themselves at another small morass. Evidently the nature
of the ground on which he was likely to operate had not interested Torrejón.
[14]

Taylor, sitting unconcernedly with one leg over the pommel of his saddle,
writing, was notified of this movement and simply replied, “Keep a bright
lookout for them.” But some one—probably Twiggs, who commanded the
right wing—had the Fifth Infantry march rapidly more than a quarter of a
mile to the right and rear, and throw itself into a square. Torrejón awkwardly
approached this body in column instead of line with some of the worthless
Presidials in the lead, fired ineffectively, was answered with a disconcerting
though not very injurious volley, and recoiled some 300 yards. He then sent
word to Arista that a morass rendered his movement impracticable; but on
receiving instructions to persevere, he made a circuit, advanced upon the
second front of the square, and once more exchanged a volley. Now, however,
he found our Third Infantry moving to defend the wagons, and saw two of
Ringgold’s cannon hurrying to the scene at a gallop, while his own pieces had
not come up. As rapidly as possible, therefore, and quite willingly, he
retreated, but not without a salute from our two cannon, which he was unable
to return. This unsuccessful manoeuvre exhausted Arista’s ingenuity, and he
only waited now for darkness, hoping to get away and find a better position.
[14]

During these operations a wad from Duncan’s battery had fired the grass. The
wind from the Gulf, nearly parallel to the American front, drove a wall of
roaring, crackling flame and a cloud of thick smoke across the plain; and, as
the armies could see each other only now and then and in spots, firing had to
be suspended for nearly an hour. Meanwhile, believing the Mexican left had
given way, Taylor shifted his position behind the screen with a view to
advancing. Churchill pushed on by the road nearly to where Torrejón had
been; the Fourth Infantry moved up to support him; the Fifth went ahead on
the extreme right; the rest of the army made corresponding changes; and as a
whole the line diverged now thirty or forty degrees from its original direction,
while the wagons came nearly up to it.[14]
But the Mexican left had not yielded, and so Taylor found when he sent a
squadron of dragoons to open the way. To avoid being enfiladed, Arista

swung his line forward in excellent order, using the Fourth Infantry as a
pivot, and again it stood firm under an artillery fire more destructive than at
first. Indeed our Fourth Infantry began to suffer a galling cannonade, and
Torrejón again assumed the offensive. Canister from the 18-pounders checked
him, however, and after sharp musketry exchanges between the Mexican line
and our Artillery Battalion, which had advanced and formed a square, serious
infantry operations in this quarter came to an end. As for the artillery, Arista
had now used up his 650 cannon balls; but the Americans kept at work until
nightfall.[14]
On our left, however, important events occurred. From the first Captain
Duncan’s battery, which made two fire-units because handled in sections,
played a brilliant and effective rôle, supported by the Eighth Infantry and
either Kerr’s or May’s dragoons, and advancing or retiring as the course of
the battle dictated. When Arista’s change of front threw his right forward
nearly 700 yards and seemed to threaten a flank attack, these pieces became
more active and more daring than ever, and under their blasting discharges,
aided more or less at this time by the 18-pounders, the Mexicans fell rapidly.
Again they grew impatient—not principally because they were suffering so
terribly, but because they were inactive, and because hints that Arista had sold
them began to arrive from Ampudia’s quarter; and finally the extreme right
wing broke.[14]
After a time some of the officers and Arista, who exposed himself bravely
throughout the battle, induced these troops to go back, and as they were still
in much confusion, the remnants of Noriega’s corps, reinforced with 200 men
from Torrejón, were ordered to support them. The cavalry, however, badly
demoralized themselves, dashed blindly at a trot against the infantry; the
resulting disorder extended even to the Tampico men; and these desperate
corps, ordered to charge as the only possible way to prevent them from
bolting, moved forward aimlessly in succession. Duncan, when he saw this
large force advance, withdrew a little, still firing; but soon under cover of the
smoke he came up again, and gained an enfilading position. Suddenly with a
sharp crack his guns opened, and against the fading horizon his shells and
shrapnel could be seen bursting, with almost the regularity of signal rockets,
over those dark masses. Driven like sheep by this fire, the Mexican right
wing turned toward the left and hurried across the entire field, presenting
their flank and to some extent their rear to the Americans at a distance of 200
paces or even less, while, in a somewhat more orderly manner, the First

Infantry, which stood next in line, followed them. Now was the time to decide
the battle; but, though Taylor had come to this part of the field, nothing could
be done, for it was feared that should a charge be made, the enemy’s cavalry
might reach the wagons, and cripple our army by destroying the provisions.
Indeed, the Americans appear to have drawn back a little toward the train;
and the disordered Mexicans, having reached the extreme left and finally the
rear of their line, were re-formed.[14]
It was now about seven o’clock. The Americans had lost five killed and forty-
three wounded, and the Mexicans probably seven times as many. The
afterglow of sunset lighted up the dun clouds of smoke. Darkness was close
at hand. Necessarily, therefore, the struggle ended; and while the Mexicans
retired through the chaparral to the low eminence behind the original position
of their right wing, and there camped in order of battle, the Americans
bivouacked where they stood, or in the fitful glare of the still burning grass
gave attention to such of both armies as could be discovered lying on the
field. At last the prairie fire burned out; the smoke of battle drifted away; the
full moon appeared; and the tired troops, watched over by pacing guards,
slept between the stacks of arms like images.[14]
Important moral results had been gained by the Americans, but they were not
aware of the fact, and expected the battle to be resumed. At about seven
o’clock the next morning, however, as the light mist slowly dissolved, their
astonished eyes beheld the Mexican line gliding off into the road; and
presently, like the tail of a huge serpent, its rear wound away into the
chaparral, and vanished. Taylor gazed and reflected, moved a short distance,
waited to ascertain through a party of dragoons that it was a genuine retreat,
consulted with some of his principal officers, and then decided on pursuit; but
the forenoon had to be spent in erecting breastworks and planting four heavy
cannon to defend the train, which he now saw should be left behind; and he
merely sent forward a composite force of 220 men, under Captain McCall of
the Fourth Infantry, to harass the Mexican rear.[15]

BATTLE OF RESACA DE LA PALMA

ARISTA IN A NEW
Arista turned this delay to good account. The chaparral
POSITION and woods that his troops had been seen to enter extended
with some interruptions to the Rio Grande, a distance of
approximately seven miles; and two hours before noon, after marching about
halfway through it, he stopped at the Resaca de Guerrero. The Resaca was an
ancient channel of the river, but it now consisted merely of a shallow, muddy
ravine somewhat in the shape of a bow, several hundred feet wide and three
or four feet deep at the banks, lying substantially east and west across the
route, with its concave side toward Palo Alto. At the bottom of it, both to the
right and to the left of the road, lay narrow ponds, and the space between the
water and the banks was rather closely filled with bushes and small trees.
Facing round here, Arista planted three or four guns at the right, or east, of
the road from Palo Alto where it approached the Resaca, two at least—hidden
with branches of trees—on the southern bank of the Resaca, and other pieces
at suitable points toward his left. The infantry were placed in two wings

divided by the road, with much the greater weight on the right hand, some of
the troops taking position just in the rear of the ravine, some behind its
northern bank, and some in the chaparral still farther forward. The
headquarters tent was pitched in a small clear space or placeta about 500
paces back on the left of the road, and Torrejón’s cavalry halted in the same
road still farther away; while Canales with two guns, placing himself on the
left a considerable distance back from the Resaca, guarded a cross-road
leading to Arista’s rear.[16]
The Mexican position, besides covering every line to Fort Brown, offered a
number of other advantages. It did not call for much use of artillery, and
therefore neutralized Arista’s deficiency in cannon ammunition. The woods
made it impossible for the Americans to employ that dreaded arm effectively.
The bank of the Resaca formed a natural breastwork, and it seemed likely that
the troops, protected in this manner, would be confident and firm. But
evidently a bold and enterprising enemy could take advantage of the woods to
conceal his movements; and evidently, too, Arista’s main batteries could fire
only in the direction of the road, since there were Mexicans in advance of the
Resaca both to right and to left. Another handicap lay in the impossibility of
surveying the field and manoeuvring troops—particularly the cavalry; the
soldiers, unable to see far, lacked that sense of union and support which
Mexicans peculiarly needed; and the want of reserves, though to a certain
extent a part of the Fourth Infantry stationed on the right behind the Resaca
could act as such, was an additional source of weakness.[16]
A still more serious feature of Arista’s situation was the condition of his
troops. Many, and probably most of them, had not eaten for more than
twenty-four hours. The sufferings they had witnessed and the neglect of their
fallen comrades had worked upon their feelings. The dreadful effectiveness of
the American artillery had been profoundly discouraging; many of their
officers had proved unworthy of confidence; and above all, accustomed to the
duplicity of Mexican leaders and unable to understand their general’s
inactivity the day before, many concluded that Arista, who was accused of
seeking American support for his alleged revolutionary scheme, had betrayed
them. This idea, if we may trust common sense and Mexican intimations, was
suggested or at least encouraged by Ampudia himself; and the coöperation of
all these depressing influences had spread a general conviction through the
army by the forenoon of May 9 that a great disaster would befall it that day. A
few, it was said, broke their weapons in despair; and utter dejection could be

read in the faces of every corps. Some reinforcements were drawn from the
city, but they did not materially improve the situation.[16]
Taylor, then, advancing at about two o’clock, after
BATTLE OF
RESACA DE LA detaching most of the Artillery Battalion and perhaps
PALMA Kerr’s dragoons to guard the train, moved forward to the
edge of the woods, and halted at what was called the
Resaca de la Palma to await information. The advance corps under McCall,
which consisted principally of the light companies of the first brigade under
Captain C. F. Smith, was now feeling its way toward the enemy. At a little
after two o’clock, turning a bend in the road, it found cannon in front.
Instantly they fired. About half a dozen Americans fell, and the rest quickly
withdrew. At three o’clock McCall’s report arrived at headquarters. Taylor
pushed on immediately, and in about an hour came up with the advance party.
Ringgold’s battery, now commanded by Lieutenant Ridgely, was sent forward
on the road, and McCall’s command, thrown into the chaparral on both sides,
began a slow and painful advance through the bushes. Almost immediately it
found itself in contact with the enemy.[16]
Under such circumstances McCall could give the battery no support, of
course, and the only reasonable expectation was that Ridgely’s men and
horses would be shot from the woods, and his guns be taken. That, however,
made no difference to him. His orders were to advance, and advance he
would. Once a body of lancers charged his guns, but by a combination of
courage, skill and good luck he routed it. Some of the Mexican artillery
seems to have moved up the road a little way after McCall retired; but
Ridgely, pushing on even into the very smoke of the enemy’s cannon, drove
them in spite of stubborn resistance beyond the edge of the Resaca, and then
sent back for troops to help him capture them. When the battle became more
general he continued to fire upon the Mexican batteries; and, as far as he
could without endangering Americans, he also swept the woods with canister,
frightening the enemy with a terrible noise in the tree-tops that reminded
them of the slaughter at Palo Alto.[16]
To right and to left the battle soon raged. All the Americans on the ground,
numbering about 1700, were put in. No general guidance could be exercised.
“Chance was the lord of all save the good right arms” of the troops, wrote an
officer. In such woods and thickets lines could not be formed. Even
companies found it impossible to remain intact. A field officer was no more
than a captain, and a captain no more than a subaltern. All got into the work

promptly, and all did their best when there. As fast as they could, singly or in
little squads, they pushed on, cheering and shouting. Often it required one’s
utmost exertions to squeeze through or hack through the dense and thorny
chaparral under pelting showers of bullets. Now there was shooting, and now
the cold steel struck fire. “My orders was to make free use of the bayonet,”
said the General afterwards, and the orders were borne in mind. Here
Lieutenant Meade, the future victor of Gettysburg, had a chance to win his
spurs; and he was but one of many heroes, though perhaps the most
conspicuous in his quarter.[16]
Nor did the Americans have it all their own way. Those Mexicans who fought
at all this day, fought like tigers. On the right near the road the Second Light
Infantry, which had been placed there in ambush just before the real battle
opened, stood firm; but most of its field officers were struck down, and it had
to give way. A company of Uraga’s regiment did nobly close by, and every
man of it, we are told, was either killed or wounded.[16]
Farther toward Arista’s left, however, our men pushed forward rather easily,
though it seemed evident from the firing that Mexicans were in front. Gaining
ground in this direction some Americans probably came upon a path which
led round the western end of the pond, and gave access to the Mexican flank.
Just before the battle began Ampudia learned of the path, and stationed a
company of the Sappers and a company of the Fourth Infantry in this quarter;
and later he sent another detachment from the Fourth with a gun. Besides
these meagre forces probably no corps guarded the left except a few Tampico
troops. These also fought well; but the splendid silk banner of the Veterans,
the bravest corps in the army, was captured, and only at heavy cost could they
fight their way back. Meantime the rest of Uraga’s regiment came over from
beyond the road, but it could not stop the Americans; and brave Captain
Barbour, followed by a small party, soon approached the placeta. The effect
was electrical. Nobody knew how many troops were following him. Canales
took flight. The sense of defeat, already imparted by hurrying soldiers of the
Second Light, spread across the road from the broken left, and at about half-
past five o’clock Arista’s right wing, the strength of the army, crumbled like a
sand fort struck by a wave. Except perhaps one, all the corps dissolved; and
in a moment, as it seemed, nothing was left but a mob of fugitives.[16]
During all this, Taylor, exposing himself as much as any one, had been
fighting at the centre. The proper course to adopt there was to charge the
Mexican guns on the road with infantry, but for some reason he sent May’s

dragoons against them. In a way the effort succeeded. Slashing as they
galloped, the horsemen quickly ran over the batteries—more than a quarter of
a mile beyond them, in fact; and then, coming back in a scattered condition,
had a chance to slash again, for the batteries had been reoccupied. But the
thickets on both sides were full of Mexican infantry. Against their muskets
the dragoons were mere targets—broad ones, too; and before long the
squadron, much the worse for its charge, recrossed the Resaca. Taylor was
disgusted. Turning to Belknap and the Eighth Infantry he exclaimed, “Take
those guns, and by —– keep them!” A part of the Fifth joined Belknap; and
these men, rushing in furiously all together, yelling like fiends, after a brief
though sharp struggle with the artillerymen—for the supporting infantry had
now abandoned their position—captured the pieces. But the battle had
already been won.[16]
Before McCall had shown himself Arista, dazed perhaps by his reverse at
Palo Alto, valuing too highly his new position, and probably overestimating
the injury inflicted on Taylor the day before, had made up his mind that no
immediate attack was to be expected, and after placing the army had
withdrawn to his tent, and busied himself in writing. Even when firing began,
he said it was only a skirmish; and after our troops reached his left flank, he
merely ordered Ampudia and the rest of the Fourth Infantry to go and settle
things in that quarter. When Americans appeared at the placeta, however, he
awoke. Pouring curses on the cowards of his army, he hurried to the cavalry,
and taking the place of Torrejón, who had refused to charge, dashed up the
road. His men lanced a few lingering American dragoons and helped a few
comrades to escape, but the battle could not be saved. On one side of the road
at least, Americans already held the chaparral, and like May he could not
stand against protected infantry.[16]
At the head of the cavalry he retreated, therefore, and turning to the left
crossed the Rio Grande by one of the lower passages. Other fugitives got over
at various points; and a great number, passing Fort Brown, which was about
three miles from the battlefield, crowded to the Anacuitas ferry. Here they
found a couple of scows; and some troops, that had been engaged all this time
in annoying Fort Brown, stood on guard. But the fleeing soldiers were panic-
stricken, the boats moved slowly, and the Americans were looked for at every
moment. Men fought for places. Clothing and arms were thrown away. Many
tried to swim or fell accidentally into the water, and an unknown number
perished in the swift current.[16]

“Rio Bravo! Rio Bravo!
Saw men ever such a sight
Since the field of Roncesvalles
Sealed the fate of many a knight?”
But the Americans did not come. Taylor had scarcely any fresh troops except
those guarding the wagons nearly or quite five miles in the rear. May’s
dragoons had been used up. Apparently no effort had been made to
communicate with Fort Brown, and have its defenders—now tired but not
exhausted—sally forth to help reap the fruits of the expected victory. Taylor
only claimed to have captured “a number” of this utterly broken army facing
a difficult river. Even badly wounded men got safely across, it would seem;
and very soon, in spite of everything, nearly four fifths—that is to say, about
4000 besides those under Canales—of the troops commanded by Arista on
the first of the month appear to have been in safety on the south shore. He
lost on May 9, according to his official report, 160 killed, 228 wounded and
159 missing, but the accuracy of the figures may be doubted. Fourteen
officers, eight guns and a large amount of property were captured by the
Americans, while their casualties were only 33 killed and 89 wounded.[16]
During the whole week so dramatically concluded, Fort Brown had been
under attack.[17] On May 3 it replied vigorously, though with trifling results,
to the guns of Matamoros; but as Taylor, with more than a month of good
weather and about 300 wagons at his disposal, had neglected to bring up a
stock of ammunition, it fired only occasionally after that in order to notify
both friend and foe that its courage still held good. On the 4th Canales
occupied the road, and on the next day Ampudia arrived with four guns and
nearly a thousand men. Arista, however, believing his cannon were not heavy
enough to breach the wall and confident that hunger would soon reduce the
garrison, forbade assault. The besiegers made themselves extremely
disagreeable; but by this time the Americans had bomb-proofs and “gopher
holes,” and, aside from the death of Major Brown, met with no serious losses.
Taylor’s profound silence, after as well as before the battle of Palo Alto,
caused intense anxiety; but when the cannon began to “bark” again on the
9th, and especially when a throng of panic-stricken fugitives could be seen
rushing past, haggard faces put on smiles. Finally a solitary messenger
approached at a gallop with his reins on the horse’s neck, waving cap and
sword, and shouting “Victory!” and the long strain ended in exultation.[18]

The Mexican army was now hanging like a plum,
SITUATION OF
THE MEXICANS overripe, shaken by the wind and ready to fall. To the
British consul it seemed utterly demoralized, and beyond
the possibility of reorganization. Yet there it was permitted to rest and
recuperate undisturbed. The official explanation said that although a pontoon
train had been proposed a long time before, the dim prospect of hostilities had
not seemed to warrant that expense; but like numerous other official
statements put out in the course of the war, this explanation hid more than it
told.[19]
A bridge might have been in readiness; but, though several officers had been
laboring for more than a month to focus Taylor’s mind upon the subject, “the
old gentleman,” wrote Meade, “would never listen or give it a moment’s
attention,” Flat-boats and scows, towed by the light steamers belonging to the
army, might have been sent from Point Isabel into the river, and the troops,
reinforcements and light batteries, crossing at the much-used ferry of Burrita,
less than twenty miles from Matamoras, and by land appearing at the town,
say, in early morning, could probably have taken army, cannon and
ammunition substantially complete. Instead of doing anything of this
description, Taylor now sent down to Point Isabel for mortars and for plank to
make into boats, and went there himself. A slight illness delayed him further;
and in eight days nothing was accomplished in the direction suggested
beyond placing at Burrita a battalion of the First Infantry and some 200
volunteers just landed at Point Isabel.[19]
Still, though let alone, Arista occupied no enviable position. He was
commonly charged with incompetence, treason or both. Many of the officers
had forsaken their troops in the hour of danger, and were now viewed with
distrust and contempt. The men felt exhausted and profoundly disheartened.
Even the dogs kept still. Provisions, ammunition and funds were scant. Fierce
complaints and recriminations became rife. Panic brooded over all. Taylor’s
inaction seemed an encouraging sign, however, and on the 17th a request for
a suspension of hostilities, accompanied with hints of a peaceful settlement,
was made by Arista. This petition Taylor rejected. But, not aware that a
general’s first duty in war is to eliminate the fighting strength of the enemy,
he said that Arista might retire with his army, the sick and the wounded, if he
would give up all public property. In fact, as if anxious to fight these men
again after letting them get nicely rested, he threatened to bring Matamoros
down about their ears, unless they would move to a safer place.[20]

Arista had been ordered to hold the city as long as possible, but a council of
officers pronounced it indefensible; and, besides feeling no violent wish to
sacrifice himself, he doubtless realized that nobody was ready to stand by
him. He therefore ordered now an immediate retreat, and a wild scramble
ensued. The transportation facilities were entirely inadequate. Some of the
guns and ammunition had to be thrown into the river. The troops of Canales
were dismissed. A large number of men deserted; and the rest, leaving four or
five hundred sick and wounded in the town, hurried away. Fatigues and
miseries almost unspeakable were their lot, and also for some time a terrible
fear of pursuit. Heat, cold, thirst, famine, tempest, sickness, desertion, a route
lined with dead animals, sleep in the mud as profound as the sleep of the
grave, troopers carrying their horse furniture, deaths from exhaustion or
broken hearts, and even suicides—these made up the record. Finally, almost
at the end of the month 2638 men, according to an officer, crawled painfully
into Linares, and a week later Arista received orders to place Mejía in
command.[21]
Taylor, all this while, had been proceeding in his deliberate way. Boats were
made and put on the river two or three miles above the town, and early on the
eighteenth troops began to cross; but when the first of them were over, a
report that Arista had retreated was confirmed, and the greater part of the
army, retracing their steps, used the regular Anacuitas ferry. As they
approached Fort Paredes the city officials—dressed all in white, bearing
white flags and riding white horses—came forth to surrender Matamoros. No
terms of capitulation were granted, but the General said he would protect
persons and property, and allow the civil laws to continue in force; and
already he had promised to respect the religion of the people. To their surprise
the Americans appeared to find themselves among friends, for the lately
implacable but seldom tactless Mexicans came up smiling, cried “Amigo,
amigo!” and with sunny enthusiasm offered their hands; and although a
feeble pursuit of Arista produced only insignificant results, the victors felt
well content. Their superiority as fighting men had been demonstrated. Their
artillery had evidently surpassed the Mexican artillery in both mechanical and
personal qualities. The officers had exhibited the finest courage, esprit de
corps and skill. An army supposed to outnumber ours three to one had been
scattered, and a prestige of the utmost value at home, in Mexico and in
Europe, had been gained.[22]

Regarding Taylor, thoughtful officers did not feel
EFFECTS OF THE
BATTLES enthusiastic, however. The General had shown himself
slow, unskilful, wanting in penetration and foresight, and
poorly grounded professionally. Nine tenths of the regular officers felt that no
talents had been displayed by him, even in the battles. He had shown, said
Meade, “perfect inability to make any use of the information” given him. In
the opinion of another excellent officer he seemed “utterly, absurdly
incompetent to wield a large army.” He had failed to realize the difficulties of
his position; had undervalued the enemy; and, as Bliss admitted, had had “no
conception” of the Mexican preparations. This last fact dimmed his credit,
even for courage, in the minds of discerning critics. But, after all, his
resolution had been superb and inspiring. He had succeeded; and among us
Americans “Nothing succeeds like success.” The reports written for him read
admirably. Terse remarks of his, often tinged with soldierly humor, delighted
the general taste at home, and mere questions of tactics or strategy signified
in comparison rather less than zero. Besides, he was so democratic—no
military stiffness, no West Point “aristocracy” about him. A tidal wave of
popularity rose in his favor, and soon Thurlow Weed of New York, the
Warwick of the Whig party, came out for him as Presidential candidate. A
commission as brevet major general and other official honors did not fail to
arrive.[23]
At Mexico the news of these events produced utter amazement and
consternation. The public, reported the British minister, had been assured “in
the most inflated Tone that Victory would follow the steps of the Mexican
Army and that annihilation and dishonour would be the portion of their
enemies.” Even General Vega, a man of sense, had predicted a victory that
would end the war. Now, alas, the cards had fallen badly. “Profound and bitter
sorrow,” as it privately admitted, was the feeling of the government. Down
like a plummet went expectations, confidence and courage; down went the
plausible hope of Paredes that all the nation, glowing with pride and
enthusiasm over a victory, would rally about him; and down also, reported
Bankhead, went his monarchical scheme, which four out of five on the
Congressional committee appointed to draft a new constitution had favored.
[24]

IX
THE UNITED STATES MEETS THE CRISIS May
—July, 1846

Polk believed in pursuing “a bold and firm course” toward Mexico. In this
policy—as her character and methods, the comparative success of England in
dealing with her, and the many humiliating failures of the United States
indicated—he was right.[1] More and more positive, during his examination
of the case before and after the end of April, 1846, became his intention to
place the subject before Congress in a strong Message; and when he found
that Slidell, who called at the White House on Friday, May 8, held the same
opinion, he decided to send that Message “very soon.” The next day he and
the Cabinet discussed the question at length once more. George Bancroft,
secretary of the navy, was not ready to advise the employment of force,
unless Mexico should commit a hostile act; but when, at about six o’clock,
Taylor’s report of the Thornton affair presented itself, this difficulty vanished.
In the evening, at the President’s request, the Cabinet reassembled, and after
another full discussion all agreed that a war Message should be delivered to
Congress on Monday. Sunday Polk worked on the paper both before and after
going to church, and conferred with leading Congressmen. The military
committee of the House, meeting in haste, agreed unanimously to recommend
50,000 men and ten million dollars for the prosecution of hostilities; and the
Senators and Representatives gathering in excited and quickly changing
groups, anxiously discussed and planned.[4]
About noon on Monday the expected Message arrived at the capitol, and was
read to thronged and agitated Houses. Our forbearance has been
misconstrued, said the President. “After reiterated menaces, Mexico has
passed the boundary of the United States, has invaded our territory and shed
American blood upon the American soil.[2] She has proclaimed that hostilities
have commenced, and that the two nations are now at war ... war exists, and,
notwithstanding all our efforts to avoid it, exists by the act of Mexico
herself.” “The most energetic and prompt measures and the immediate
appearance in arms of a large and overpowering force are recommended to
Congress as the most certain and efficient means of bringing the existing

collision with Mexico to a speedy and successful termination.” Volunteers to
serve not less than six or twelve months, with liberal financial provision for
the war, were therefore suggested; but at the same time a desire for an
“amicable” as well as early settlement of the pending difficulties was
expressed, and a pledge was given to negotiate whenever Mexico would
either make or hear proposals.[4]
Objections greeted the Message at once. Calhoun in particular strongly
opposed the President’s fundamental idea. Hostilities have occurred, he said;
but as Congress has not acted, there is no war “according to the sense of our
Constitution.” Archer, a leading Whig Senator, concurred in this view, adding
that perhaps the Mexican proceedings had been justifiable, and that first of all
a careful investigation of the facts was requisite. Clayton, another Whig, went
farther, and said that by having Taylor advance to the Rio Grande Polk had
made himself the aggressor. There is no evidence, it was urged, that Mexico
has declared war or sanctioned hostilities. Recognition of a state of war
would extinguish all treaties with that country, jeopardize the persons and
property of our citizens on sea and land, wipe out our claims upon Mexico,
expose the nation to untold evils, and perhaps give offence in Europe,
objected others; hence let us merely authorize the President to repel invasion.
On Benton’s motion the Senate divided the subject of the Message, referring
the matter of invasion to the committee on military affairs and the broad
question of waging war to that on foreign relations.[3] Excellent possibilities
of delay seemed to lurk in this decision. Calhoun favored it.[4]
But the House was prompt and positive. Conveniently
THE ACTION OF
CONGRESS reposing on the table there was a bill, presumably
growing out of the Oregon issue, which proposed that
Polk should be authorized to accept volunteers and repel invasion; and this
was now modified to fit the President’s recommendations. It was also given a
preamble, which stated that “by the act of the Republic of Mexico, a state of
war exists between that Government and the United States.” This phraseology
displeased most of the Whigs; but they were powerless to change it. In the
committee of the whole about an hour and a half were allowed for a partial
reading of the Message and the accompanying documents, and thirty minutes
for debate. Amidst a great uproar the bill was then reported, ordered without
discussion to its third reading, and under the spur of the “previous question”
passed. One hundred and seventy-four supported it and fourteen—five from
Massachusetts, five from Ohio, and one each from Maine, Rhode Island, New

York and Pennsylvania—voted in the negative. The next morning this bill
was reported in the Senate.[4]
Calhoun pleaded now for at least a pause of twenty-four hours, and this
appeared not unreasonable, since the documents that supported the Message
had not yet come from the printer; but the party caucus had resolved upon a
course of action, and Benton and Allen, chairmen of the committees on
military affairs and foreign relations, announcing that consideration had
already been given to both aspects of the war measure, favored immediate
action. Cass made an effective speech in the same sense; and, although a test
showed that eighteen Senators objected to the preamble, the bill, somewhat
amended, was passed finally by a strong majority—forty against only two.
Calhoun, Berrien of Georgia and Evans of Maine did not vote. Crittenden and
Upham answered to their names, “Aye, except the preamble.” Webster and a
few others were absent. In the evening the House accepted the amendments,
and the next day at about one o’clock Polk received and signed the bill. Later
some of the Whig Congressmen pretended that all they had voted for was to
save Taylor’s army; but the 50,000 soldiers and ten millions of money were
not asked for a mere rescue party, and it was pointed out in the discussion that
the General’s fate would be decided long before the bill would give him
troops. By an overwhelming majority in both houses, then, voting in full
accord with the President and his Cabinet, war on a large scale was provided
for. “The gates of Janus are open,” wrote Alexander H. Stephens.[4]
At every stage of these proceedings flowed a tide of real
THE MOTIVES OF
CONGRESS national feeling, but there were also devious currents that
need to be mentioned. Probably few, if any, of the chief
actors expected very serious trouble with Mexico. Polk for his part assured
Benton that if Congress would recognize the war and provide large forces, he
believed the affair could speedily be terminated; and he promised to use no
more funds and men than should prove “absolutely necessary to bring the
present state of hostilities to an end.” Many Congressmen, who talked with
members of the Cabinet, were told that without firing another gun the United
States would have a satisfactory treaty within four months.[5] The Washington
correspondent of the New York Tribune, an anti-slavery Whig journal,
reported that on learning of the action taken by the House Polk said, “I shall
now give you peace—I have the power.” “The war was declared as the means
of peace”—as a part of the President’s policy of intimidating Mexico into
making a settlement, wrote the correspondent of the New York Journal of

Commerce. So thought the New York Herald. Merely passing the war bill
will be enough, it said; and, especially since Polk’s Message exhibited the
same combination of sword and olive branch as his employing Slidell and
Taylor jointly, so to speak, one cannot well reject this view, which is
supported also by evidence previously offered.[10]
The Democrats, being the administration party, naturally stood by the
President,[6] and a wish to make the attitude of the United States impressive
and effective was an additional reason for their urgency and haste. But
probably these were not the only inducements. The party was falling into
dissensions. The Van Buren group felt indignant that New York should
occupy a secondary place in the Cabinet, and be represented there by the Old
Hunker, Marcy, while the rest of the Democrats complained that Van Buren’s
faction, the Barnburners, were dictating everything. A short, inexpensive and
successful war—especially one without gunpowder—seemed likely to please
the country, provide offices, consolidate the party, and compel the Whigs to
lose prestige by endorsing the policy of their opponents, or else to sacrifice
popularity by antagonizing it. Moreover it looked as if a discussion of Polk’s
course in sending Taylor to the Rio Grande, however correct that course had
been, might prove at such a juncture dampening and vexatious; and for all of
these reasons it seemed expedient that a war bill, with exactly the preamble
already quoted, should be rushed through Congress at the quickest pace.[10]
The Whigs were no less perspicacious, and they especially hated to lose the
partisan advantage of charging that Polk had been the aggressor. Mexico has
not declared war, they insisted; and with more or less honesty they
complained that a regard for sacred truth forbade them to endorse the
preamble. But their position was exceedingly delicate. Not only had Mexico
long threatened hostilities, prepared openly for them, and severed her
diplomatic relations with us at both capitals, but she had in effect made a
declaration of war. Her only official voice at this time was that of Paredes;
and his agent, Arista, an officer of the highest rank, had given Taylor formal
notice of hostilities. Arista had been sent but recently to command against the
Americans, and nobody could reasonably suppose that he had proceeded at
once to transgress or ignore deliberately the wishes of his master in so grave
an affair.[10]
Taylor on the other hand had shown the most pacific disposition both in word
and in deed. Nothing serious could be alleged against us except the peaceable
joint-occupation of territory long claimed by the United States; and in short,

unless Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Pinckney and John Quincy Adams were
to be disavowed, it seemed legitimate for Polk and for Congress to hold now
that Arista’s attack upon Thornton had been the first hostile act.[7] The
preamble, therefore, could not well be rejected; and nearly all of the Whigs,
having before their eyes the doom of those who opposed the war of 1812,
choked down some honest though mistaken compunctions and in most cases
a probably more troublesome lump of partisan regret, and voted for the bill.
[10]

As already has been suggested, however, there was in Congress a third party
—John C. Calhoun, and for later as well as for present reasons it is desirable
to understand his opinions. To him it seemed highly advisable to forestall
European interference, and quite possible to avoid a conflict with Mexico, by
adjusting the Oregon question before coming decisively to an issue in the
Mexican difficulty, and therefore he thought the United States ought by all
means to limit itself now to repelling invasion. Personal reasons also led him
to deplore the prospect of a conflict in arms. The culmination of his fiery life,
the fulfilment of his brilliant dream, had seemed in April to be drawing near.
By his convenient method of bending facts and principles to his purpose, as
the sparrow makes a nest for herself, he had found it possible to coöperate
with the West in spending great sums on internal improvements, and expected
in this way to make the Northeast a helpless minority; but he could easily see
that war might empty the treasury and bring about new political alignments.
For the same reason it looked as if his project of a low tariff also would
vanish; and, as we have seen, contemplating the possibility of secession, he
did not wish[8] the youth of the southern states to expend their blood in
Mexico.[10]
Before the news of Thornton’s encounter arrived he argued with Polk against
sending to Congress the proposed Message on our relations with Mexico.
During the excitement on that eventful Sunday he not only planned with his
partisans in Senate and House to oppose war, but worked for the same
purpose with leading Whigs, urging—for example—that Mexico should be
given more time to consider the risk of a conflict, as if she had not already
been speculating upon it for several years. Then in the Senate he gravely
proclaimed the truism that border hostilities do not necessarily constitute war,
and turned it into a sophism by applying it in the present case. To compare
Arista’s attack upon Thornton to an unmeaning border squabble was truly, in
view of the long series of preliminaries, ridiculous; and equally ridiculous

was the endeavor to support this fallacy with another: that since Congress had
not declared war, a state of war with Mexico could not lawfully exist at this
time.[9] “Is not Calhoun deranged?” exclaimed our minister at Paris on
hearing of this.[10]
To be sure, Congress is the only branch of our central government that can
legally declare war; but, for instance, other nations are not hampered by our
Constitution, and might attack us in such a manner as to prevent Congress—
for a time, at least—from acting. None the less we should fight, and it would
be nonsense to describe our resistance as unconstitutional. As a matter of fact
Congress did not declare war against Mexico, and on Calhoun’s theory we
had no lawful war with that country. On that theory, not only our military
men, Congress and the President, but our Supreme Court, which fully
recognized the war, acted unconstitutionally. Indeed, he himself illustrated the
untenability of his idea. In order to avoid the weakness of advocating purely
defensive operations a Whig leader, Senator Crittenden, said that by repelling
invasion he meant pursuing the enemy until we could be sure that no
repetition of the outrage would occur. This programme would have involved
substantially all that we did against Mexico. It would have meant a war
without a declaration; yet Calhoun endorsed it. In short, even one so acute
and so deeply interested as he could not find a real argument against the war
bill, and his “friends” abandoned him on this issue. By an overwhelming
majority Congress rejected his interpretation of the organic law. War existed.
No American who recognized our claim to the intermediate region, formally
made by national authorities and never withdrawn, and especially none who
recognized the claim of Texas, could logically deny that it existed by the act
of Mexico; and in the light of its antecedents, including Arista’s declaration
of war and attack upon Thornton, the war bill committed the nation properly
as well as completely.[10]
We were, then, under arms; but, after all, why? What was
THE CAUSE OF
THE WAR the cause of the war? It was not—as will plainly appear in
another chapter, it is believed—an unholy determination
to obtain California at the cost, if necessary, of fifty thousand lives. It cannot
have been a difficulty as to the boundary of Texas, for two nations do not
fight over an issue that exists for only one of them—and that one not the
aggressor; and for Mexico the question between the Nueces and the Rio
Grande had no international significance except when it could be used, as an
argumentum ad hominem, to embarrass Americans.[14]

Nor was it a scheme to extend the field of negro servitude. Even a cormorant
requires time for digestion, and in 1845 the acquisition of Texas appeared so
powerful a bulwark for the peculiar institution, that no strong and widespread
craving for additional areas can be supposed to have existed at the beginning
of 1846. Besides, as pro-slavery Taylor, Calhoun and Polk, anti-slavery
Webster and time-serving Buchanan agreed, free labor was practically sure to
dominate California; and hence, in view of the slight probability that much
cultivable territory could be obtained in the south against the stubborn
opposition of the free states, the war seemed more likely to diminish than to
increase the relative strength of slavery. Moreover, the soil south and west of
the Rio Grande was unsuitable for cotton, sugar, rice or tobacco. Rich
proprietors already owned the land, and had no thought of parting with it. The
system of peonage was extremely economical, and it held the ground so
firmly that negro slavery, though tried, had been unable to make headway
against it. The free laborers of northeastern Mexico would have been,
admitted the North American, particularly hostile to our southerners and their
methods; and the colored population, it was pointed out, could have escaped
gradually from its bonds by amalgamating with the natives. Now the leaders
of the “slavocracy” doubtless inquired into the conditions; and, as most of our
ministers and probably most of our consuls in Mexico were from their
section, they could easily obtain information. Waddy Thompson and A. J.
Donelson, for example, believed and said, that slavery would not thrive in
northern Mexico.[14]
Polk’s diary and papers reveal no evidence that he seriously considered the
interest of the peculiar institution in connection with our Mexican problem.
The debates of Congress are equally barren. Soon after the war opened, as we
shall discover, northeastern Mexico seemed ready to join the United States or
accept our protection, and there is no sign that the slavocracy attempted to
improve the opportunity. The politicians most eager to acquire Mexican
territory were Dickinson of New York, Hannegan of Indiana and Walker, an
anti-slavery man. A northern correspondent of Calhoun wrote that many in
New York insisted on extending that way “to augment the strength of the non-
slaveholding states,” while a Mobile correspondent said, “I would let the war
continue forever before I would take 697,000 [square miles] of territory,
which must be free territory.” A meeting in Ohio declared for taking all of
that country, and this does not seem to have been paralleled in the South.
South Carolina was preëminently the champion of slavery, yet Governor

Aiken publicly opposed making acquisitions in that quarter. Calhoun, the
leader of the southern ultras there and elsewhere, did the same. So did Waddy
Thompson, Botts, Toombs, Lumpkin, Campbell and many other southerners.
W. R. King said that while the South would insist—as a point of pride and
right—upon sharing the benefit of any territory gained from Mexico, it was a
gross libel to represent her as desiring to increase in that way the strength of
slavery.[14]
King deplored the war. One of the South Carolina Senators wrote that it was
detested nowhere more than in his state. In Georgia, too, the conflict was
bitterly opposed. The people did not desire the war, said Toombs. Half of the
slaveholders oppose it, admitted Ritchie, a Virginian, editor of the
administration organ. Besides all other objections, it was pointed out that the
southern policy of conservatism and her stand for a strict construction of the
Constitution would be endangered by absorbing a large area mainly
populated by extremely inferior aliens. To combat all this evidence, we find
hardly anything[11] except the characteristic hints, imaginings and assertions
of certain abolitionists.[14]
On the other hand, the evidence that the annexation of Texas was essentially
the cause[12] of the war is impressive both in quantity and in quality.[13]
Benton, Clay, Robert C. Winthrop, Stephen A. Douglas, Andrew Johnson and
many other public men agreed on this point. As Van Buren and substantially
all the Whig organs had predicted that immediate annexation would entail
war with Mexico, they must be counted in the same class. Charles Sumner
drew up a resolution declaring that such was the primary cause, and it passed
the legislature of Massachusetts, where the subject was rather closely studied,
by overwhelming majorities. The House committee on foreign affairs took
that ground in its report of February 24, 1847. All agree upon this, was
Winthrop’s declaration. Paredes expressed the same view in the most formal
manner. The Mexican minister of war under the government that overthrew
Paredes publicly endorsed it; and at least two well-qualified foreign
observers, Duflot de Mofras and the biographer of Lord Aberdeen, took the
same view. Indeed, the proposition seems demonstrated by the plain course of
events.[14]
The mere annexation of Texas cannot, however, be regarded as the sole cause
of the war. But for the loudly expressed wrath of the Americans, due mainly
to Mexican barbarities in Texas and outrages upon the persons and property
of American citizens, Mexico would have been far less irritable, and the

annexation difficulty, which came so near to being patched up, might have
been adjusted; while, as Polk maintained, if the policy of the United States
regarding our claims had been firm, consistent and strong from the first,
Mexico would not have dared to risk so much in dealing with us later.[14]
The general cause of hostilities was, therefore, the series of unpleasant
incidents occurring in the mutual relations of the two countries from the
scandalous treatment of Poinsett down to the scandalous treatment of Slidell,
from the first mutterings of discontent in Texas down to the setting of her one
fair star in the broad sea of the American Union; and in this long series the
annexation of Texas was the chief event.[14]
But one can speak much more definitely. For a term of years, mainly in
consequence of the use made of these affairs by self-seeking politicians, the
people of Mexico had fed on the ideas of despising, fearing, hating and
fighting the United States; Paredes had gained supreme authority on this
basis; public sentiment demanded that he should pursue the route marked out
by his professions; to beat the small and apparently demoralized American
army, led by a backwoods general, seemed quite feasible; it appeared likely
that a victory would confirm the dictator’s power, while a failure to strike
would ensure his doom; and hence an attack upon our army was ordered. This
was the precise cause of the war.[14]
Let us now return to Congress. The war bill of May 13
THE WAR
MEASURES gave the President authority to use the army, the navy, the
militia and not more than 50,000 volunteers—to serve
twelve months after reaching the rendezvous “or to the end of the war, unless
sooner discharged”—to expend not more than $10,000,000, to complete the
vessels of war already authorized, and to purchase additional vessels. By
other Acts he was authorized (May 13) to increase by enlistment the number
of privates in the regular army from sixty-four to not over one hundred per
company, thus bringing the rank and file up to 15,540; a company of sappers,
miners and pontoniers and a regiment of mounted riflemen, originally
intended to protect emigrants and traders on the Oregon route, were created
(May 15 and 19); and numerous details concerning organization were either
prescribed or entrusted to the Executive (June 18 and 26).[15] Under the last
head authority was given to appoint all the necessary general officers.[16]
Meantime (May 13) the President issued a war proclamation, modelled upon
that of 1812, in which he announced that an appeal had been made to “the last
resort of injured nations”; and the state department (May 14) sent a

confidential circular to our agents abroad, explaining that we had taken up
arms reluctantly, and “solely for the purpose of conquering an honorable and
permanent peace.”[17]
“The war sense of the United States,” it has been remarked, “seems to be in
inverse ratio to its war spirit;” and in general the military measures of the
government exhibited more zeal than discretion. In particular they put into
action the very system that had proved disastrous a generation before. For
this Taylor was primarily responsible, for after having seen the war of 1812
and that of Florida languish and crawl, he strongly urged that volunteers be
called out for one year of service. Polk’s Message deepened the mischief by
expressing confidence in raw troops, although in 1838 the secretary of war
had assured him that the difference in expense between volunteers and
regulars was “at least as four to one,” besides the waste resulting from their
total ignorance of administration, the cost of marching to and from distant
points for short periods of service, and the disproportionate growth of the
pension list.[18] The President was indeed authorized to increase the number
of privates in a regular company, but the roll of officers remained as before;
and enlistment was not stimulated, as it might have been, by adding
something to the pay.[19]
Having a choice between a definite and an indefinite period, the volunteers
were sure, as Marcy foresaw, to elect the former, although—as the sequel
appeared to show—a sufficient number would almost certainly have engaged
for the war, had that been the only proposal. The Mexicans were commonly
regarded as cowardly and inefficient. Very few Americans expected them to
hold out as long as they did; and intending volunteers would naturally have
counted, therefore, upon returning soon. There were also the enthusiastic
feelings natural at the opening of a war, and a deep interest resulting from the
supposed peril of Taylor’s army. Yet the government chose to accept
gratuitously the risk, which in due time became a certainty, of embarrassing
itself, disappointing the country and encouraging the enemy by offering a
brief term of service.[19]
Instead of retaining control of the organization and officering of the
regiments, it entrusted this work to the states, and as a rule the men chose
their own officers;[20] but in these features of the system, as in our
governmental methods generally, there was some advantage as well as much
loss. Webster, for example, held that volunteers ought to have the right of
electing for leaders men whom they knew and could trust; and if they

preferred, to sicken and bleed under captains as ignorant as themselves,
whom they knew and could trust, rather than fare otherwise under trained
officers whom they would have had to obey without fully understanding
them, they were perhaps entitled to the privilege, and no doubt they learned
something from exercising it. Anyhow, said Webster, the other method would
have been degrading; and American citizens must not be degraded. As for
generals, the law of June 18 compelled the Executive to take them from the
militia, although they would be under no obligation to serve more than three
months, and might withdraw in the midst of a campaign. There was no
provision for filling vacancies resulting from death or discharge; and finally
the appropriations were so poorly arranged that the quartermaster’s office had
to juggle with funds as even Polk himself could not lawfully have done.[19]
Such as it was, however, the system went promptly into effect. Beginning on
May 15, the secretary of war sent requisitions for volunteers to the governors
of the states, deeming this method of application advantageous as well as due
to their official position, since they were supposed to know the troops of their
jurisdictions and the best places from which to draw them. In general the plan
was to summon about 25,000 from the northeastern states, to be enrolled and
await orders, and to call out nearly as many from the other states for
immediate service. The former were all to be infantry; the latter, horse and
foot in the ratio of about one to three. It was expected that existing militia
organizations—regiments or parts of regiments—would offer their services,
and that new men would fill the ranks as they felt moved to come forward.
Not only privates but officers were to approach the national service by that
portal, and then be mustered into the army at the appointed state rendezvous
by a United States officer detailed for the purpose.[21] In four days the calls
were nearly all on their way.[24]
The purpose of distributing requisitions over the whole country was to
interest every state, Polk explained; and to stimulate the executive officials he
urged upon the secretary of war the most prompt and energetic action and
personal attention to each detail, insisting for his own part upon being kept
“constantly advised of every important step that was taken.”[22] This charge
Marcy accepted with all seriousness.[23] Whether bowing his massive head
ponderously over a big desk, sifting callers with keen glances through shaggy
brows, or giving instructions to subordinates in a voice roughened with snuff,
he devoted his faculties to his task with a rare power of concentration. But he
preferred the quiet of his home; and there, comfortably wrapped in his

dressing gown with a box of the brown powder and an old red handkerchief
on the table, he did his best work.[24]
Polk believed, or tried to believe, that “multitudes” were eager to volunteer,
but others feared it would not be easy to raise troops after so long a peace.
Strong influences were at work, however. Though evidently the fireside was
not in danger, patriotism urged men to take the field, for did not the nation
call?

“Arm! arm! your country bids you arm!
Fling out your banners free—
Let drum and trumpet sound alarm,
O’er mountain, plain and sea;”
thus wrote Park Benjamin the day Polk signed the war bill. A longing to
escape from the dulness of bare existence, ambition to see the world and
test one’s powers, a passion for adventure and frolic in a far clime believed
to be all glitter, beauty and romance, the prospect of revelling in the Halls
of Montezuma, a feeling that one who was not “in it” would have to spend
the rest of his days explaining why, the expectation of honors and
popularity that would make success easy in any pursuit, quarrels with
sweethearts or hopes of becoming irresistible to the “girls,” were among the
motives. For the high officers it was a “political tour,” said one of them; and
with everybody the barbarities perpetrated by the Mexicans in Texas
counted for much. The hardships of campaigning were unknown. While
every one understood that some would fall, it was practically impossible for
an ardent young fellow, well and strong, to imagine his particular person
stretched lifeless on the ground; or, if such an end was ever contemplated, it
appeared as something quick, unfelt amidst the excitement, and sweetened
by the greatness of one’s cause.[24]
Behind all of this lay certain facts too deep for the soldiers themselves to
perceive, but not too deep for them to feel. One instinctively shunned that
“misery of cowardice,” which—as Pericles told the Athenians—is more
dreadful to men of spirit than death in battle. As the ages have
demonstrated, man is naturally a fighting animal, and therefore he finds in
war the keenest sense of his vital selfhood. It is our chief glory to will and
to do; and in mortal combat this glory is more intense, if not more real, than
in peaceful occupations. Besides, if a man comes to his end in being
supremely himself, he triumphs over death, and indeed he wins another
victory, too, for life—so rich in menaces—can threaten him no longer. The
validity of nearly all these motives was more or less transitory. When, for
example, a man had proved that he could face a cannon, it seemed
unnecessary to keep on facing it. But while they lasted, they were strong.[24]
In almost every section, therefore, except New England, where the
annexation of Texas could not yet be forgiven, the war spirit rose high,
astonishing even the most sanguine. At New York the walls were covered

with placards headed, “Mexico or Death,” or “Ho, for the halls of the
Montezumas!” and the streets echoed to the song:
“Come all ye gallant volunteers
Who fear not life to lose,
The martial drum invites ye come
And join the Hickory Blues:
The gallant Hickory Blues,
The daring Hickory Blues—
To Mexico they proudly go,
The gallant Hickory Blues.”
At Philadelphia 20,000 citizens of all parties gathered
TROOPS COME
FORWARD “to sustain the country.” In the central states banks
advanced money without security, farmers’ wives issued
free rations, ladies made clothing and flags by the wholesale, roads turned
black with men. Ohio looked with disfavor on the annexation of Texas and
the war with Mexico, regarding them as measures favorable to slavery; yet
in less than two weeks after the requisition for volunteers arrived, three
thousand of her sons were marching to the rendezvous. At Indianapolis Lew
Wallace hung out a flag and a four-sided transparency inscribed, “For
Mexico; fall in”; and in three days his company was full. “Illinois must
rally now and win a character,” James Shields wrote to Koerner; and
fourteen regiments volunteered instead of the four that could be taken.[24]
In Kentucky, said reports, the quota of the state was complete by May 26,
and the governor had to stop the volunteering by proclamation. Tennessee
was called upon for about 3000 men, and nearly 30,000 came forward.
None would retire, and the selection was made by lot or ballot. At Memphis
troops organized before the call arrived. “May glory and honor await
them!” cried the Daily Eagle. St. Louis began to drill on May 12, and in a
few days the excitement was so deep and universal that the courts
adjourned. North Carolina offered more than three times her quota.[24]
In the Gulf states many feared that not enough citizens would remain at
home to police the negroes. “Governor, do—if possible—get them into the
service,” was the tune in Alabama. Mississippi complained bitterly that so
few of her sons had a chance. At New Orleans the roar of business was
almost drowned by a still more clamorous roar:

“The drums, the drums, the busy, busy drums,
The drums, the drums, the rattling, battling drums,
The drums, the drums, the merry, merry drums!”
As rapidly as possible Brigadier General Wool and other officers mustered
the regiments into service; and, leaving the rendezvous and the crowds of
praying, cheering people amidst the saddest good-bys and the warmest good
wishes, the volunteers bravely set out for the war.[24]
Before very long new views of military life began to dawn upon the
soldiers. At the old battlefield below New Orleans, where many of the
troops camped, mud and water covered what was below their boot-tops
while mosquitos covered what was above. Going down the river they
brightened at the sight of sycamores and live-oaks, draped with Spanish
moss, and of the ducks, jays, mocking-birds and Virginia nightingales, that
seemed to find life so merry. But soon the lighthouse of the Southwest Pass
was gleaming astern, the muddy water became blue, and these landsmen
were on the deep. Sharks, diving porpoises, squadrons of nautili and shoals
of little flying-fish gave them some pleasure; but the motion, especially to
men packed like sardines in the dirty holds of schooners and small brigs or
lying spoon-fashion—if there was even room to do that—on deck, seemed
horrible. On the slow voyage the water, which was often impure, fermented
sometimes, and ten cents was the price of a wholesome drink.[25]
And then the Gulf storms! The wind howled; the sea opened its jaws; the
heavens were now like ink, and now one burst of flame; thunders rolled;
ropes hissed and shrieked; spars cracked, snapped and were swept away;
the vessel tossed from beam-end to beam-end; the maddened horses almost
kicked the planking from the ribs, and the men cursed, prayed or stolidly
awaited their fate. But sooner or later nearly all of them perceived on the
horizon a line of sandy beach spotted with tents. It was Brazos Island off
Point Isabel, and they anchored about four miles from it in the open sea.
Meanwhile Brevet Major General Gaines, commanding the military
department of the West, had begun on May 3 at his own instance to
requisition troops for the relief of Taylor, and a considerable number of
these men also set out for the Point.[25]
The question of a commander now had to be decided. Polk felt little
confidence in Taylor. The General’s separating his army so far from his base

and exposing both to imminent peril seemed
THE CHOICE OF
A COMMANDER inexcusable; and furthermore General Scott, not only the
head of the army but the famous hero of Lundy’s Lane,
was the natural chief of the large forces now called out. Certain facts,
however, injured Scott’s chances. He was now almost exactly sixty years
old, and many thought him, as did Senator Fairfield, “too much of an old
granny.” In 1839 he had been given 57 votes at the Whig Presidential
convention, and of late the brilliancy of his political anticipations had made
him look “ten feet high,” said Corwin. His want of reverence for the
President’s decision respecting brevet rank had led Polk and Benton to think
of banishing him to a post on the northern frontier. General Gaines and his
many friends had long hated him; and Mrs. Gaines insisted that no one was
“much,” whose lips could be covered with a button. Finally, he was called
vain, and so he appeared to be.[30]
But the ostentation that won him the nickname “Old Fuss and Feathers,” in
addition to being much exaggerated by report, was doubtless attributable in
large measure to military policy and respect for his rank. No one ever saw it
interfere with serious affairs, and one who could remark on the weak point
of his own personal appearance, the point ridiculed by Mrs. Gaines, was not
so extremely vain after all. The right word for Scott was egotism. Now
egotism—in others—is doubtless a shocking trait; yet merely to seem aware
of what everybody knows, does not, as many think it does, convert merits
into demerits. General Scott had a magnificent presence—fully six feet and
four inches of height and a corresponding weight—the brightest fame as an
intrepid soldier, the honor of a long and eminent career, the first place in our
army, a high social position, superior talents and attainments, unusual
knowledge of the world, charming personal graces, and a character of rare
quality—powerful, gentle and true. That he did not dissemble nor cloak his
value was a fault; but those who felt entitled to censure him, merely
because they had no such merits to be aware of, were somewhat in error.[30]
Besides, almost every great artist is egotistical, and Scott was a great artist.
In more ways than one this was true. He could instruct the baker in the
mysteries of making bread, and superintend ably the roasting of a ham;
damn his delighted black body-servant for hiding everything and then
hiding himself; rave at an admiring guest for cutting lettuce instead of
rolling it round his fork, or lament in tragic tones at whist that he had to

play against three; and the next moment he would be analyzing a campaign
of Turenne, monologuing inimitably about the great men he had met in
Europe, or criticizing and comparing the best authors of French prose. His
foibles—particularly a sensitiveness of temper, an ambition for the
Presidency and a fondness for relieving heavy thought with light words, as
Marcy did with light snuff—were numerous; the openness of his large and
generous nature, superior to the prudence of smaller minds, prevented his
concealing them; certain peculiarities of language and manner, from a
delicacy about commas to a fondness for literary effects, were easily
ridiculed; and in non-military affairs his indiscretion was now and then
glaring; but he must be described emphatically as a soldier, a gentleman, a
“character,” a great general and a great man.[30]
Distrusting Taylor, and profoundly alarmed about the situation on the
frontier,[26] Polk sent for Scott on May 13, and conferred upon him verbally
the chief command in Mexico; yet, while admitting that he saw proofs of
experience in the General’s remarks, he pronounced him too “scientific and
visionary,” as the master of a difficult business must always appear to the
tyro.[27] Probably he knew that a man could not become a soldier overnight,
as he could become a militia colonel or a “statesman,” or—in Santa Anna’s
opinion—a professor of jurisprudence; but he believed that, should fighting
really need to be done, even an improvised army would make “a brisk and a
short war of it,” as the administration paper neatly said, and, if necessary,
dictate a peace “in the Halls of the Montezumas.” Under circumstances like
these prevision and science appeared rather superfluous. The only things
needful were to march now and triumph to-morrow.[30]
Scott, however, felt that waging war might involve military operations. He
undertook to prove by elaborate calculations that the greater part of the
volunteers could not at the best arrive on the Rio Grande before the first
week in August; and, since that would be the rainy season, when the hoofs
of mules and horses would be unfit for hard use, and various other
difficulties would arise, he recommended that most of the new troops, after
remaining under instruction at salubrious points in the United States during
the summer, should be placed upon that river by September 25, so as to
make, with the volunteers and regulars already there, 25,000 or possibly
30,000 healthy, properly equipped and more or less trained soldiers, ready
to invade Mexico in a decisive manner. In the execution of this plan he did

not intend to shirk or dally.[28] May 15 he gave the chiefs of the general
staff directions about throwing supplies of all kinds upon the various
rendezvous in advance of the volunteers, prompted the quartermaster
general to obtain wagons, and even called attention to the necessity of
seasonably obtaining light boats for the navigation of the Rio Grande.[30]
His feeling was, however, particularly after news of what he called Taylor’s
“great and brilliant victories” arrived, that it would not seem proper—
especially to military men—for him to supersede that officer except with
heavy reinforcements; and no doubt he saw it would scarcely enhance a
prestige that was dear to him personally and invaluable to him as the
commander-in-chief, to lie idle in hot mud for several months. He therefore
proposed to leave Washington about May 30, give his personal attention to
the troops and supplies en route and at the rendezvous, and reach the scene
of action a little before them.[30]
Such procrastination disgusted Polk, and such “schemes” annoyed Marcy,
both of whom doubtless had an eye on political considerations. Democratic
members of Congress protested that Scott was slow, and also that, if
successful in Mexico, he would be the ruin of their party. In short, it seemed
necessary to get rid of him.[29] May 19, therefore, without saying a word to
Scott, the secretary of war had a provision attached to the bill which finally
became the law of June 18, enabling the Executive to appoint an officer
new to the army as commander-in-chief of the volunteers, and at the end of
the war eliminate Scott entirely. This led to sharp language between Marcy
and Scott.[30]
Marcy, the politician, intimated that the militia, who had gone to Taylor’s
assistance and were to serve only three months, must have a chance to do
something, and Scott, the soldier, declined to take the field if liable to be
fired on from the rear. In one of his notes the General remarked that he had
taken for lunch merely “a hasty plate of soup”—a fact that really proved his
extreme devotion to the business in hand; and in another he specified a
number of the reasons why a summer campaign was not feasible. At this
juncture, too, a private note of his, to the effect that no eastern man, Whig
or West Pointer was likely to be given a commission, turned up at the White
House. Polk regarded the note as disrespectful, and also thought the
expression “fire upon my rear” was a reflection on the Executive. Scott
protested that his words referred to Marcy and the members of Congress,

and apparently did all he could, without sacrificing his professional
convictions, to satisfy the President; but his efforts were in vain.[30]
The army on the Rio Grande was now out of danger; Taylor seemed not so
extremely incompetent after all; and Scott was still a scientific, visionary
schemer and a promising candidate for the chair of state, whom it was more
politic to disgrace than to honor. Polk decided therefore that he was
meddlesome, insubordinate, hostile, foolish, vindictive and untrustworthy, a
procrastinating obstructionist, and above all a “violent partisan”; and on
May 25 he received orders to stay at Washington and hasten the
preparations. His correspondence with Marcy was published. The big dogs
and little—Blanche, Tray and all—began to bark. He was called a farrier
general for speaking of hoofs, and “Marshal Tureen” for admitting that he
took soup. His off-hand remarks were termed flippant, his close calculations
fussy, and his deliberate plans dilatory. His allusion to the “rear,” fully
justified by what had occurred and what was to follow, seemed even to
some friendly critics disrespectful and uncalled for. Political intrigue, not
war, was said to occupy his mind. The General has “committed suicide with
a goose-quill,” announced the Boston Courier; Marcy himself confided to a
friend that Scott had lost a position he would never be able to regain; and
Taylor, assigned to duty with his new brevet rank,[31] was continued in the
chief command.[30]
All this while the administration felt extremely anxious,
THE OREGON
ISSUE SETTLED on both domestic and international grounds, regarding
the Oregon issue. The West, which Representative
Graham called “the ruling star” in Congress, clamored for “fifty-four forty
or fight.” Cass admitted that he found it necessary to sacrifice to its demand
his preference for a boundary at the forty-ninth degree, and Polk’s yielding
to the same pressure is readily understood.[32] It was believed that
England’s interest in peace would forbid her fighting the United States for a
small area of unrecognized value, and the Democratic leaders probably had
no expectation of getting into a war. The British Cabinet, however, had its
public to deal with, and felt that it could not live a day should it appear
submissive to American “bullying.” Hence on February 4, 1846, when the
United States finally rejected arbitration, the two nations were almost at the
grips.[9.33]

Yet each contained powerful elements favorable to accommodation. The
strong tone of the American government impressed England, and Polk
realized that while compromising on the lower line would anger the
Northwest, an opposite course might throw upon him the responsibility of
disrupting his party, ruining his administration, and plunging the country
into an abyss. The American Congress, like the people, took a more and
more serious view of the situation; and the roar of the “fifty-four forty” men
subsided into a growl. On a hint from the United States Great Britain
presented in May a compromise practically similar to that which her
minister at Washington had rejected the previous year. The Senate, whose
advice Polk asked in order to escape from his radical declarations,
recommended the acceptance of it on June 12, and the crisis ended.[33]
During the same anxious period a less public negotiation also was on foot.
There were signs of a revolution in Mexico, and it behooved Polk to
consider who might come to the front. Farías and Almonte had many
partisans, and both were hostile to the United States; but Santa Anna, now
living in exile near Havana and spending his time on gamecocks, monte and
a huge mail from Mexico, seemed quite likely to regain the power; and it
was believed that his intelligence, ambition and knowledge of his country’s
weakness, combining in favor of peace, were more than enough to offset
any stirrings of patriotic enthusiasm in his breast. Reports from trustworthy
sources—particularly from Slidell, Consul Dimond at Vera Cruz, and
Consul Black at Mexico—tended to support this belief;[34] and it was
understood also that past actions and present circumstances bound Santa
Anna to oppose all European and monarchical designs upon Mexico. Not
having begun the conflict with the United States, he could pronounce peace
a necessity, it was thought, and throw upon Paredes all the odium of the
abortive war. Moreover A. J. Atocha, a naturalized American citizen, who
had been a confidant and tool of Santa Anna, had assured Polk in February
that the General, should he regain power, would be ready to treat.[35] From
the despatches of the Spanish minister at Mexico we know that it was
impossible, as Polk asserted, to prevent a man possessing large resources
from landing on the Mexican coast; and it seemed evident that Santa Anna’s
presence in the country, should he fail to regain power and make a treaty,
would in all probability lead to a distracting civil war. On the day Polk
signed the war bill, an order[36] to let him pass through our blockading
squadron off Vera Cruz was, therefore, issued to Commodore Conner.[38]

And this was not all. Though deeply distrustful of
NEGOTIATIONS
WITH SANTA Atocha, Polk seems to have derived from a conversation
ANNA with him the idea of despatching a secret emissary to
Santa Anna, and on the evening of July 5 Commander
Mackenzie of the United States navy arrived at Havana.[37] Two days later
he passed three hours with the ex-dictator, informing him of the order to let
him pass, and giving him the substance of a conversation with Polk, in
which the President had expressed these interesting sentiments: first, a hope
of seeing the General once more in authority; secondly a desire for peace—
on the basis of a boundary via the Rio Grande and thence west, ample
payment in cash for the territory thus transferred, and permanent friendly
relations with Mexico; and, thirdly, a willingness to stop military operations
and send a minister, should Santa Anna, on regaining his former position,
be willing to negotiate.[38]
In reply the General drew up a note, which was copied by Mackenzie and
then destroyed. In this he professed liberal intentions regarding commerce
and politics, anti-monarchical and anti-European principles, and a
disposition—in case the United States would promote his “patriotic
desires”—to respond with a treaty of the desired sort. Taylor, he said, must
promote the scheme by marching to Saltillo, forcing Paredes to fight,
defeating him, and then advancing perhaps to San Luis Potosí, so as to
constrain the Mexicans of all parties to recall the Hero of Tampico; and he
offered valuable hints about attacking Tampico and Vera Cruz, which
seemed to attest his sincerity. Mackenzie then took his leave, and,
impressed by Santa Anna’s military suggestions, transcended his
instructions by visiting Taylor on the way home—thus rendering himself
and his mission unduly conspicuous.[38]
In these ways, combining diplomacy and force as he loved to do, Polk
imagined that our Mexican crisis had been fully met.

X
THE LEADERS ADVANCE May—September, 1846
On taking possession of Matamoros Taylor pitched his tent in the shade of a
small tree about half a mile from town, and there he remained. Dressed in
attakapas pantaloons and a linen roundabout he sat enthroned on a box
cushioned with an Arkansas blanket, and for dinner-table had a couple of
rough blue chests. The slight pursuit of Arista and the search for concealed
ordnance, arms and munitions did not require his personal attention. June 6
Lieutenant Colonel Wilson with his four companies of the First Infantry,
Price’s company of rangers and two of Bragg’s guns under Lieutenant
Thomas, the future “Rock of Chickamauga,” marched for Reynosa, about
sixty miles distant by the road, which had asked for the protection of
American troops,[1] and on the fifteenth Captain McCulloch and his
company were sent off on a scouting expedition; but the General had ample
time for reflection, and his thoughts were not entirely agreeable.[2]
Despite newspaper glorification, the low opinion of his abilities that was
entertained by the officers must have impinged somewhat upon his
consciousness. Captain Larnard, in fact, believed that he not only realized
his inadequacy, but longed to retire; and certainly Taylor’s private letters
exhibited the profoundest mental discomfort. Scott should come, he insisted
over and over again; the campaign would be a failure, and the officer
conducting it would be ruined. He distrusted the intentions of the
administration, and he condemned its policy. As early as May 9 he feared
too many volunteers—whom he disliked—were coming; by May 20 he
knew what Gaines had done; and Scott’s letter of May 18 informed him that
about 20,000 such troops were “to march upon Mexico.”[2]
Under this head all his fears were realized. First, three-
THE TROOPS ON
THE RIO months men (militia) sent for by himself in April, then
GRANDE six-months men called out by Gaines, and then twelve-
months men raised under the war bill poured in. By June
3 his army had risen to nearly 8000. Three weeks later the First Tennessee
Infantry—advance guard of the Congressional troops—appeared, and it

found on the scene six regiments from Louisiana, one from St. Louis, one
from Kentucky, seven companies from Alabama and twelve or fifteen from
Texas. All of these had come in response to the calls of Taylor or Gaines;
and some had been on the ground more than a month. In all about 8000 of
these two classes arrived, and in accordance with Taylor’s desire nearly all
of them—except a very few, who agreed to serve twelve months—were sent
home about the first of August.[3] Before they took their leave, at least
20,000 American soldiers were on the Rio Grande, besides an inevitable
number of American civilians more or less directly connected with the army
or not connected at all; and by far the greater part of their subsistence had to
come, of course, from the United States.[4]
The men were stationed in a series of camps. The best of all these was
probably at Point Isabel, where the dry, undulating ground and fresh breezes
made for health and comfort. Fort Polk, as the station was now called,
included about fifty acres. The shallowness of the harbor impaired the
convenience of the Point somewhat, however; and the primary camp lay
three or four miles away at the north end of Brazos Island, which consisted
of low hills on the side toward the mainland, a swamp in the centre, a
wreck-strewn beach on the outer side, and in general three blades of grass
to fifty square feet of sand, as Lieutenant George B. McClellan wrote home.
Here, too, the air was excellent; but the brackish water caused many
complaints, and the sand blew into everything—hair, nose, eyes and food.
Marching the entire length of the island the soldiers found themselves, at its
southern end, about eighty yards from the mainland, waded across the
bayou or strait known as Boca Chica, and after going about seven miles
farther came to another camp and group of storehouses, ten miles or so
from their point of departure, called Mouth of the Rio Grande, where the
river steamers tied up or anchored.[5] Here, as at Camp Brazos, the ground
was “working A live with magotes and land crabs,” as a soldier put it; but
the same breezes usually tempered the heat. Eight miles from the Gulf by
land—twenty-five or thirty by water—one came to Burrita, a cluster of huts
on a ridge close to the stream, and this high ground was made the site of a
roomy camp. On the opposite side of the river and separated from it by a
mile of swamp lay Camp Belknap, a spot fit only for the snakes, tarantulas,
centipedes, fleas, scorpions and ants that infested it. Above this point lay
several more camps,[6] and still others enveloped Matamoros.[7]

Except Belknap all of these places were fairly salubrious for men of
reasonable prudence, and several of them distinctly healthful; yet
considerable sickness prevailed. At Brazos Island a sort of dysentery made
trouble, and by some the water of the Rio Grande itself was thought
injurious. Until May 13 no funds available for tents had been within the
reach of Quartermaster General Jesup; and after this difficulty was
removed, feeling that he could not wait for duck, he used, common muslin,
which let the rain through; and many of the troops, even regulars, had no
protection against the weather except a screen of brush or a blanket thrown
over a bush. Measles invaded the camps, and lying on the damp ground
made the disease fatal in many instances. What was worse, the heedlessness
and homesickness of the volunteers caused much sickness even at Point
Isabel. The regulars, however, were comparatively healthy and contented.[7]
The heat, softened by constant breezes, was thought by many less
oppressive than in Tennessee and Kentucky, though sometimes men fainted
at the drills. Bathing proved a valuable resource; and on the seashore there
were oysters, crabs and a large variety of beautiful fish to catch and eat.
Stately processions of herons and scarlet-winged flamingos and the chatter
of jackdaws and many other birds amused the soldiers; and some of those
addicted to sport discussed the project of crossing the mosquitos with
gamecocks, we are told. The roar of the sea and the mirages along the river,
innumerable flowers, the solemn burros (donkeys) almost buried by their
loads, the Mexicans vending eatables at exorbitant prices, the long lines of
tents where such a luxury as tents existed, target shooting, and now and
then the muffled drum helped occupy one’s attention. On July 5 occurred a
Sunday and a sermon—the last of the campaign. At sunset a tremulous
orange haze in the west was due, followed by the twinkling lights of the
camp, that were so agreeable to view from a distance, and then by the
howling of wolves, the tenor chorus of the swamps, and the agonized
baritone fugues of the donkeys. It was now time for singing, story-telling
and, above all, gambling—perhaps Old Sledge on a blanket, perhaps
Chuckle-luck, perhaps monte, perhaps faro; and now and then came a
fandango (dance) on the hard ground with such American and Mexican
women as there were. The camp life was “a rough furnace and a hot fire,”
wrote Sergeant Miller; but the novelty of it soon wore off, and the
volunteers grew discontented.[7]

They had come for glory and a good time, and were
THE MORALE OF
THE ARMY having neither. They wanted to do something, and to do
it at once or go home. One at least of them believed that
assignment to garrison duty would have led to general desertion. Wherever
they were, they panted to be somewhere else. Having come to gamble, with
their lives for a stake, they clamored to have the game begin. If there was
no enemy to fight, they were ready to fight friends; and in one of the many
brawls and riots Colonel Baker was shot in the neck. Four or five months of
training under expert officers and strict discipline were necessary to prepare
regulars for the field;[8] and naturally these volunteers, almost wholly alien
to the habits, feelings and efficiency of the real soldier, often felt at liberty
to thwart and even defy their commander, and were unable to coöperate
with him intelligently when really disposed to do so. In spite of positive
orders they wasted ammunition recklessly, and Lieutenant Meade thought a
day passed in his tent no less perilous than a stiff battle.[11]
The officers were very similar. One brigadier general came with a light
buggy, in which he proposed to make the campaign. Another had enlisted as
a private, and, not being deemed worthy to command the company, had
been elected a lieutenant; but the executive fiat provided him with
qualifications. “In the name of God,” wrote a soldier to Senator Allen, don’t
let Hamer be a brigadier general; he is talented, but doesn’t dare undertake
to drill a squad; yet the commission was issued.[9] Pillow, another of the
same rank, ambitious to figure but not acquainted with his proper work, did
what was not proper. Some of the volunteer generals on horseback
reminded Lieutenant Jamieson of the line,
“Woe to the mullein-stalk that came in our way.”
Persons of a mature age, who had bulked large at home, would not stoop to
plod through the rudiments of a new profession. Even good officers were in
fear of the letters written by their men and the revenge that might be taken
later, should real discipline be enforced; while those less conscientious
threatened to resign if kept in the background, stood in the way of superiors
belonging to the opposite political party, in order to prevent them from
making a reputation, or even took part with the men in the hope of getting
into Congress by and by.[11]

In short, the volunteers were all one costly mass of ignorance, confusion
and insubordination, said Meade; while the regular officers felt
discouraged, not merely by discovering that civilians were preferred to
educated soldiers for high appointments, but by finding themselves in the
shadow and even under the command of men who had been discharged
from West Point for incapacity or from the army for gross misconduct.[10]
At the height of this, General Taylor, who was disqualified by lack of
experience and mental discipline for organizing an efficient staff, and
therefore needed to use his own eyes and his own voice, held aloof. “I very
seldom leave my tent,” he wrote on July 25, adding helplessly, “How it will
all end time alone must tell.” Besides, every mail brought letters about the
Presidency to distract his attention.[11]
Probably he saw he had blundered. On April 26 he knew that war had
begun, and called upon Louisiana and Texas for soldiers with a view to the
invasion of Mexico, which he must have believed, under the circumstances,
that his government wished. By the rules of the service it was then his duty,
as he well knew, to make requisitions for everything the campaign would
require,[12] and a zealous commander, gathering—as Taylor had been
instructed to do—all the information he could find regarding the local
conditions, might reasonably have sent on to Washington with it an able
officer to assist the department. With a scorn, however, for science and
vision that should have delighted Polk, Taylor did neither; but, assuming
that the Mexicans would not fight—if at all—north of the mountains
beyond Monterey, he determined to advance with about 6000 men.
Unfortunately he neglected to have his engineers inspect the three
steamboats on which his plan depended, and these proved to be worm-eaten
and practically useless.[13]
About the middle of June, boats for the Rio Grande
TROOPS
ADVANCE began to be despatched from New Orleans, but—in
addition to mishaps at the coast resulting from gales and
the freaks of the shifting bars—a serious embarrassment soon occurred
above. A direct advance against Monterey by land was deemed
impracticable, because the route lacked water. Taylor had therefore planned
to have his troops march to Camargo, the head of navigation toward that
city, and send their supplies to that point by the river; but during the first
eleven days of July rain fell heavily and flooded the country. The freshet,

however, ensured a sufficient depth in the Rio Grande, and on July 6 the
Seventh Infantry set out for Camargo. The distance, called about 120 miles
by land, was more than twice as long by water; and the river wandered
about so much that according to humorous natives a bird could never get
across—always alighting on some projection of the bank from which it had
risen. It proved a hard task for the light and feeble steamboats, with only
green wood for the boilers, to stem the fierce current; the pilots were
unacquainted with the difficulties of such navigation;[14] and in making one
of the sharp turns a boat was frequently caught by the current, and swept
downstream or against the bank—breaking the rudder perhaps.[16]
But in one way or another the steamers puffed ahead past great cornfields,
and occasionally there was a small village, where the people stared in
wonder at the strange craft, and the girls laughed and shouted to see the
soldiers throw kisses to them. After some 200 miles of this came Reynosa
on a high limestone point, dominated by a heavy, stunted church tower like
an ancient castle; and, farther along, the mouth of the Alcantro was passed.
The country became still better now, with fertile valleys running back to the
tablelands; and not only corn but potatoes, wheat, beans, and cotton could
be seen. Forty miles of such a landscape, and the steamboats entered the
San Juan; and after struggling on for three or four more they stopped early
on July 14 at Camargo, where Captain Miles, who commanded the
regiment, sent at once for the alcalde, an official who acted as mayor, judge
and pater familias in a Mexican town, and formally took possession. The
rest of the regular infantry pursued the same route as fast as possible, and
on July 30 most of the volunteers were ordered to do so.[16]

From Matamoros to Monterey

August 4 Taylor himself embarked, and the next day artillery and infantry
began to advance by the southern shore of the river. The road was in places
deep with mud or covered with water; thick chaparral cut off the friendly
breeze; the intense heat felled many a soldier, and thirst tormented all who
retained their senses; but after a time the plan of moving by night lessened
the suffering, and at last the painful march was achieved. The cavalry and
wagons also proceeded in due course to the general rendezvous;[15] and
meanwhile Mier, a hill town only a short distance from the Rio Grande, was
occupied without resistance on July 31.[16]
Camargo, a place of perhaps 5000 inhabitants, was said
DREADFUL
CAMARGO to be some 400 miles from the Gulf by water. It stood
well up on the right bank of the river, here about one
hundred yards in width; but the recent freshet, rising to an unprecedented
height, had nearly destroyed it, replacing houses and gardens with about a
foot of mud. This was dug away, and the banks were cleared of vegetation;

“acres and acres” of tents rose; and by the end of August some 15,000 men
were encamped along the San Juan for a distance of three miles or so up
and down and several hundred yards back, while a quantity of stores that
dumfounded the Mexicans and satisfied Taylor, was gradually piled up.
Worth, who had returned to his brigade at the end of May, commanded the
place and insisted on firm discipline. No American trader was tolerated; and
all persons caught smuggling liquor into camp suffered “a punishment cruel
to use on tender skins.”[17]
This was well, but it did not redeem the situation. Natives regarded
Camargo as the sickliest point in the region, and the freshets had made it
worse. Every breath of air raised a stifling cloud of dust from the dried and
pulverized mud. Barren hills of limestone cut off the breeze to a great extent
and concentrated the fierce heat, frequently sending the mercury in “this
hottest of all hot places,” as a soldier called the town, to 112 degrees.
Scorpions, tarantulas, mosquitos and centipedes abounded. There was a
plague of small frogs. “Last night the ants tried to carry me off in my
sleep,” wrote a soldier. The only drinking water came from the San Juan,
and it made trouble. The ignorance of the volunteers about caring for their
health was fairly matched by that of their officers and medical men. Days of
sweltering under a cruel sun, with nothing to do and apparently nothing to
hope for, were followed by cool nights and heavy dews, the heart-rending
groans of the sick, and the yelping of numberless prairie wolves. In almost
all the volunteer regiments at least one third of the men were ill, wrote
Meade, and in many of them, one half. The three volleys at the graves
became well-nigh a continuous roll; and the “dead march” was played so
often that, as an officer said, the very birds knew it. The First Tennessee,
originally 1040 prime young fellows, was reduced by deaths and discharges
to less than 500. “Oh, what a horror I have for Camargo,” exclaimed one of
the generals; “it is a Yawning Grave Yard”; a thousand soldiers torn and
mangled on the battlefield would be nothing to its suffering and dying
regiments.[17]
And all this appears to have been unnecessary. As we have seen, Taylor had
no intention of using more than about 6000 men in the near future; and
there were salubrious places not only near the Gulf but near Camargo. No
local maladies prevailed in the Rio Grande valley, said Meade. “There are
no causes for disease,” wrote Captain Henry. The climate of that region,

said an Illinois officer, equalled in salubrity the climate of “any Western
state.” Reynosa was described by the General Sedgwick of Civil War days
as perfectly healthy. Mier, selected the following year, with a particular
view to salubrity, as the site of a camp for instruction, lay near by on the
road to Monterey; and Cerralvo, farther along on the same route, was a kind
of Eden. The best comment on what the General did is what the General
himself said. His first duty, he told Senator Crittenden, was to place the
troops in a healthful situation.[17]
During all this while, Mexico, too, had been preparing
MEXICAN
PREPARATIONS for the war, and preparing characteristically. Paredes
began with good intentions, a serious and fairly
honorable Cabinet, and sound ideas of economy. Though he did not seem to
be very strong either physically or intellectually, his many scars and the
bull-like expression of his face inspired respect and caution. He lived
quietly and honestly, and the correspondent of the London Times thought
Mexico had a better prospect of being well governed than at any previous
period since 1821. It was the dictator’s hope that such a policy and a bold
campaign against the Americans would rally the country to his banner.[20]
About April 1, as we already know, he gave orders to attack Taylor. In May
he severed all consular relations with the United States.[18] June 6 the new
Congress met; and Paredes, in opening the session, announced that the time
had come to declare war, and summoned all Mexicans to the support of the
country. Six days later he was elected President as a matter of course, and
the action of the American government regarding war with Mexico was
made known by the official Diario. On the sixteenth Tornel—the enemy of
the United States and worse enemy of his own country, who had now
wormed himself into the war department in place of Almonte—proposed to
Congress a declaration of war; and on July 6 Paredes proclaimed, as
Congress had voted five days before, that Mexico would repel the
aggression and invasion of the Americans. It was further stated that besides
completing the Permanent and Active corps, the government would create
additional forces to serve during the war. A million dollars were supplied by
the clergy to pay for a campaign. Paredes obtained permission to command
the army in person, and his intention to do so was publicly announced.[20]
But as usual the war plans ended mostly in talk. Except at the far distant
north, denunciation of the United States moderated somewhat, and even at

Mexico bragging lost a part of its flavor;[19] yet, though really discouraged,
people would, not recognize the war as anything very serious. After news of
Arista’s defeat arrived at the capital, the shiver of astonishment and disgust
lasted for a time; but the glib fellows in the cafés were soon remarking,
“Well, that’s over; that won’t happen again.” Explanations abounded. After
all, Arista was only making a reconnaissance in force, it was pointed out.
“Such is the fortune of war; a defeat to-day and glory to-morrow,” remarked
one of the generals. The hour chosen by Providence to give the world a
lesson by terribly punishing the aggressive Americans has not yet arrived,
explained the governor of San Luis Potosí. Reverses have occurred, but
they can easily be repaired and will be, the minister of war assured
Congress airily; and moreover the enemy had suffered most severely, it was
believed. Even the evacuation of Matamoros was eclipsed by domestic
politics. The triangular difficulties between Scott, Gaines and the American
government were cited as illustrating the state of discipline in our army. The
wreck-strewn coast near the mouth of the Rio Grande and the billows laden
with boxes and barrels afforded no little encouragement; and editorials from
the London Times, proving in detail the hopelessness and risk of an
American attack upon Mexico, were translated and printed by the official
journal.[20]
So the nation took heart. Its case did not look desperate after all. Heroics
appeared unnecessary. The military men have seized the country, thoughtful
citizens reflected; let them defend it. The people did not fly to arms. The
departments opened their strong boxes by only a chink or not at all. “A
dreadful and cruel lethargy has buried the Republic,” exclaimed El
Indicador. How the Mexicans could be roused, nobody knew. To proclaim a
levée en masse and place a weapon in every hand seemed politically
dangerous. Paredes, observing that his plan to go north received the cordial
endorsement of his enemies, and fully warned that his departure would be
the signal for an uprising, dared not set out; and as for the idea of British
aid, upon which great expectations had been erected, the minister of
England gave lectures instead of promises.[20]
Indeed, Paredes found himself struggling, not merely to
PAREDES IN
DIFFICULTIES achieve, but even to survive. Knowing well that his
political existence depended upon paying the army, he
devoted all the revenues to it from the first, and made every exertion to

solve the all-important problem of money. In March he tried to borrow
heavily on the security of Church property, but failed. In May the payment
of all treasury obligations was suspended, and a cut in pensions and salaries
made; but the principal results were to anger multitudes already offended by
his economies, destroy credit, paralyze business, and call forth an emphatic
protest from the British legation. On the principle, perhaps, of setting a thief
to catch a thief, the cynical Iturbe, one of the corrupt jobbers in government
contracts, was appointed minister of the treasury; and extraordinary powers
to raise funds were conferred upon the President by Congress. But this very
law shielded private and Church property, and there was no help in laying
taxes that could not be collected. Besides, the army was now but a fragile
staff. The defeats of the north had smitten its confidence and prestige; being
badly paid it was unreliable; and it really preferred Santa Anna, the natural
chief of its unprincipled and rapacious officers.[22] Paredes counted upon
the monarchical party. Beyond a doubt he aimed to place it in power.[21]
Alamán, an avowed advocate of that policy, was not only his principal
adviser but the chief editor of a monarchist newspaper, El Tiempo, set up at
this time and protected by the government; and the convocatoria
summoning the new Congress, prepared by Alamán, pointed in the same
direction. But his party had no “substantial plan,” as the British minister
well said, and the idea commanded no popular support. To the army it
meant a permanent throne in the place of a Presidential chair to which every
successful general might aspire, and imported troops instead of Mexicans
behind the foreign prince; while the departments, under the pretence that
local interests were neglected but mainly to facilitate access to the public
treasury, turned away from even the idea of a centralized republic toward a
revival of Federalism. The convocatoria, which denied Congressional
representation to six sevenths of the people, was generally and furiously
denounced as an open rupture with the nation; and Archbishop Posada, the
strongest support of the monarchists, fell sick and passed away. Paredes
found it wise, therefore—in fact, unavoidable—to declare for the Republic.
But his action seemed a confession of weakness, dishonesty and
inconsistency; and this impression was deepened by a futile decree against
the freedom of the press and a vain endeavor to gain the support of Pedraza,
who led the conservative wing of the Federalists.[22]
Numerous other difficulties embarrassed the President. Like all the
successful revolutionary leaders, he found it impossible to keep the

promises he had made. It was complained that he did not protect northern
Mexico against the Indians. His adjustment of the foreign debt raised a loud
clamor. Many charged that his bringing the principal military forces to the
capital had laid the frontier open to the Americans, and he was accused of
using them still as his personal bodyguard. The Army of Reserve is too
much reserved, cried the Monitor Republicano; and over and over again the
opposition press demanded that he should take the field, which nobody
believed he intended to do.[22]
By June the spirit of revolt, which had shown itself early in February,
seemed formidable. Almonte, who had left the Cabinet ostensibly because
opposed to monarchical designs, was believed to be at work for himself,
and Santa Anna was known to be plotting. The President’s ability fell
conspicuously short of his needs, and he clouded with drink such talents as
he possessed. His weak and vacillating course fortified every enemy, and
estranged almost every sensible friend; and it came to be felt, even by those
hostile to the monarchical idea, that a more energetic ruler must be found.
In short, six months after taking the reins Paredes had no real strength
whatever. The door stood actually ajar for a new revolution.[22]
Preparations for such a change had then been going on for a long while. In
the London Times of February 10, 1846, its correspondent at Mexico had
said that Santa Anna’s coming into power again “would be regarded by all
classes as the greatest affliction that could befall the nation,” and other good
observers entertained similar opinions. The Federalists in particular disliked
him. But on February 20 a protest of his against monarchical schemes
appeared in print at Mexico, and newspapers were soon advocating his
return.[23] Farías, leader of the radical Federalists, was easily won over by a
patriotic letter full of penitence and unselfish zeal, and with Rejón as
intermediary an alliance of his faction and the Santannistas, based upon the
idea of uniting army and people, was at length, with much difficulty,
brought about. Almonte joined the combination; by the first of April it
planned to “pronounce” at Vera Cruz; and although disagreement regarding
the terms of the plan and a dispute whether Santa Anna or Almonte should
be named the leader prevented this action, Juan Alvarez, who had been a
turbulent partisan fighter in the Acapulco region ever since 1821, and was
cognizant of this conspiracy, inaugurated a revolution, April 15, in favor of
a provisional triumvirate: Santa Anna, Herrera and Rincón.[26]

Santa Anna insisted upon his own views, and Almonte, whom Paredes
appointed minister to France in order to get rid of him and then obligingly
detained at Havana by withholding funds for the journey, yielded. In May
Paredes put Farías and fifteen other suspected men into prison, and this
enabled them to plot at their leisure. On the twentieth of that month all the
scheming came to a head at Guadalajara, where the people cried, “Viva la
República! Death to the foreign prince!” The officers despatched against
them proved unsuccessful.[24] The country was soon like a tossing sea; and
insurrections, attempted or planned, showed themselves at various places.
[26]

The government now proceeded to commit suicide.
PAREDES
OVERTHROWN Paredes announced that he was going to make his long
deferred campaign against the Americans. About 4000
troops marched for the north—really destined, it was believed, for
Guadalajara—and near the end of July Vice President Bravo reluctantly
accepted the reins of government. It was hoped to rally the conservatives to
his support, and to that end he proclaimed on August 3 the revival of the
constitution (Organic Bases) that had been in force during the Presidency of
Herrera, while urgent appeals for union and harmony were put forth by the
new ministers. It was hoped also to conclude the war. Paredes had wished to
do this in May, and a member of the Cabinet had indirectly proposed to
Consul Black that a minister should be sent by the United States; but the
government finally concluded that the matter was “too delicate.” The new
Executive, however, had not committed himself in favor of war as the
President had, and it was understood that his administration fully intended
to end the conflict.[26]
Bravo’s course alarmed the conspirators, for many of the Federalists,
besides distrusting Santa Anna, believed the Organic Bases could be made
over into a satisfactory constitution. Nobody felt sure, however, that such
was the real intention of Paredes; the new Cabinet did not please the
radicals; the revolution had gone so far it could not easily be stopped; and
when word came on the third of August that the garrison of Vera Cruz had
pronounced for Santa Anna, General Salas, the comandante general at
Mexico, who was believed to be a firm supporter of the government,
declared at the “citadel” the following night—with the concurrence of
Farías—for Santa Anna and federation, citing particularly as excuses the