JANUARY–APRIL 1846
Polk’s order of January 13, 1846, sending Taylor’s army from Corpus Christi to “a position on or near the east bank of the Rio Del Norte” was agreeable to Taylor; it was, in fact, based upon a recommendation Taylor had made to the adjutant general three months earlier,* and it left the choice of the actual position to be occupied up to him.
Two paragraphs of Polk’s order, however, were written in such a way as to place Taylor in an awkward position. They were delicately worded:
It is not designed, in our present relations with Mexico, that you should treat her as an enemy; but should she assume that character by a declaration of war, or any open act of hostility toward us, you will not act merely on the defensive, if your relative means enable you to act otherwise.…
Texas is now fully incorporated into our union of States, and you are hereby authorized to make a requisition upon the Executive of that State for such of its militia force as may be needed to repel invasion or to secure the country against apprehended invasion.1
By the first paragraph of that order the President of the United States had placed in the hands of a field commander the power to decide whether or not a state of war existed, a remarkable step. But the second paragraph gave even greater trouble, for the option of calling for militia reinforcements was not the carte blanche it might seem to be. Article I of the U.S. Constitution expressly limits the use of state militia to “executing the laws of the Union, suppressing insurrections, and repelling invasions.” Thus, if Taylor were to assume the offensive in case of hostilities (as he was instructed to do), he could not employ militia for that purpose in Mexican Territory.
Considering Polk’s secretive nature, it is impossible to determine whether he and Secretary of War Marcy were deliberately placing Taylor in an impossible situation or whether they were committing an honest error. Winfield Scott, the general-in-chief, would have detected at once that the order was unconstitutional. But then Polk had already decided to run the Army without consulting the imperious Scott. Whatever his reasoning, however, Taylor decided to risk sustaining a first battle, should it come, with only his small Army of Occupation.
Taylor’s eagerness to move forward from Corpus Christi was motivated partly by concern for the welfare of his troops. When he had first recommended moving, back in October, boredom was already setting in. The constant drilling, no matter how essential, was beginning to gall, and even the most professional of the young officers were complaining of the continual, monotonous drumbeat of the drill field. Further, the weather was deteriorating: the winds from the sea were growing cold and the rains could penetrate the flimsy tents. There was a scarcity of wood for warming cold bodies and for cooking. The camp at Corpus Christi had outlived its habitability.
When Polk’s movement order arrived on February 4, therefore, Taylor promised that he would “lose no time” in moving forward to Point Isabel, at the Brazos Santiago, from which base he could be supplied directly from New Orleans.2
As it turned out, Taylor required over a month to leave. He lacked a ship on which to send scouting parties to Brazos Santiago (over a hundred miles distant), and a party sent overland would take too long. Further, he needed one or two lightly armed vessels to protect his contemplated base from raids by sea. Taylor had made frequent pleas for these ships, but all had been shunted aside in Washington. The Navy Department, at one point, had made a feeble effort, transferring three ships to the War Department, but none of these were fit for use.† So Taylor delayed.
Help came, finally, from Commodore David E. Conner, commanding the “Home Squadron” patrolling the Gulf. Conner learned of Taylor’s predicament in mid-February, and he offered to provide Taylor with “one or two small vessels” to assist in seizing and protecting Brazos Santiago (the bay around Point Isabel). Taylor was grateful.3
Despite all the planning, the coming march was successfully kept secret at first. By February 18, however, Taylor’s orders were common knowledge, and everyone was in a state of excitement, “hurry-scurry, preparatory for the march.” Only the gambling houses and bartenders of Corpus Christi were dejected, and not surprisingly they attempted to prevent Taylor’s imminent departure by planting rumors of “a very large Mexican force ready to oppose him.”‡ Taylor, of course, paid these “reports” no heed.
On Sunday, March 8, Taylor’s advance guard, consisting of Twiggs’s 2d Dragoons with the light artillery, marched out across the direct, overland route to Matamoros. The path was rough but distinctly marked by a well-worn trail that had carried traders and smugglers between Matamoros and Corpus Christi for years. To the Mexicans it had a name, the Road of the Arroyo Colorado.4
The next day the 1st Brigade, under the command of Brevet Brigadier General William J. Worth, marched out; on March 10 the 2d Brigade (under Colonel James S. McIntosh), and on March 11 the 3d Brigade (under Colonel William Whistler). Taylor would stay behind to see the 3d Brigade off, march awhile with it, then work his way forward. He planned to catch up with Twiggs before reaching territory where enemy resistance could be expected.
Taylor’s total force now consisted of about 3,550 officers and men, followed by a train of 307 oxcarts and mule-drawn wagons. Behind him Taylor left his “sea tail,” under Major John Monroe, consisting of a siege train of quartermasters, engineers, artillery, and others. That group would travel from Corpus Christi by water,§ timing their departure so as to arrive at Brazos Santiago concurrently with Taylor’s overland army. And to make it easy for the adjutant general to reach him, Taylor sent a forwarding address: c/o the Quartermaster in New Orleans.5
On March 11 Taylor saw the 3d Brigade off from Corpus Christi. Then, traveling thirty miles the next day, he rode up to join the 2d Brigade, which was “advancing with great regularity.” On that day he sent word back to Washington that the brig Porpoise had arrived the day before off Aransas, with orders from Conner to render “all the service in his power.” Taylor enclosed a letter Conner had written him passing on a report (which Conner discounted) of a large Mexican force moving northward and of general public dissatisfaction with the newly installed Paredes regime. He also enclosed a copy of an anti-Paredes pronunciamento, this one issued by one General Antonio Canales at Camargo, a town on the Rio Grande upstream from Matamoros. The renegade Canales, a hated foe of the border Texans, controlled only one auxiliary regiment, but news of any disruptions in Mexico was still welcome.6
The march overland began pleasantly enough for the troops. At first the route ran westward, following the Nueces River over open prairies, sprinkled with little clumps of vegetation, and occasional dense thickets. Kirby Smith wrote home excitedly of a plant, the Spanish bayonet, that grew some fifteen feet tall and sported white flowers some five inches in diameter, protected by glossy green bayonets. This was something new to a New Englander! As the march progressed the army turned southwest into the land of rattlesnakes and tarantulas. At one point Smith’s men caught a small antelope to supplement their rations. The beast was so pathetic, however, that the soldiers released it.
By now the march had become dirty and hot, and at one point the soldiers went thirty-six hours without water. Taylor, of course, shared the hardships with the rest. Like them, his skin was sunburned, his lips cracked and raw, his skin peeling. Typically, none of his dispatches mention any discomfort, on his part or on that of his men. Veterans such as Smith even seemed to enjoy the long, hot trek.7
Taylor expected to traverse the first hundred miles unmolested. However, beyond the Arroyo Colorado, about thirty miles from Matamoros, he could be attacked at any time, so he planned to concentrate his army at that stream. But even if Taylor had not planned it that way, the incident of Thursday and Friday, March 19 and 20, would have alerted him to do so, for when the 2d Dragoons sent out a reconnaissance force to the arroyo late on the nineteenth, a party of irregular Mexican cavalry challenged them from the opposite bank. The Mexicans took no hostile action, but they “made it understood” that crossing the river would be “an act of hostility.”8 Taylor, unable to gauge precisely the strength opposing him, prepared a full-scale river assault the next day.
Early on the twentieth, Taylor placed his dragoons and Worth’s 1st Brigade in position at the arroyo, supported by all his available batteries of field artillery. In the meantime, McIntosh’s 2d Brigade arrived, and Taylor placed it on the right of the 1st. As Taylor tersely reported, the “crossing was then commenced and executed in the order prescribed. Not a shot was fired.…”9
Others saw the action in a more dramatic light. Kirby Smith called it “one of the most exciting moments of my life.” Everyone in the army, he wrote, “from the General-in-Chief to the smallest drummer-boy, felt morally certain that we were on the verge of a fierce and bloody conflict, yet I saw no one who was not cheerful and apparently eager for the game to begin.” Smith admired the perfect order by which four companies, under the command of Captain C. F. Smith, marched into the water. Smith then saw General Worth rush to the head of the column. “We watched them in breathless silence as they deepened in the water, expecting that at every step they would receive a withering fire.” When the assault had reached the midpoint of the stream without a shot from the opposite bank, he wrote, “the disappointment of the men was shown from right to left in muttered curses.” As the head of the column reached the top of the opposite bank, however, the men cheered, the bands struck up “Yankee Doodle,” and they all marched up the hill. In the distance Smith could see a few Mexicans retreating, but “the great battle of Arroyo Colorado was terminated.”10
On the morning of March 24, 1846, Taylor’s force reached a road junction near the Rio Grande. The left fork led to Point Isabel, ten miles away, and the right to Matamoros, about twice that distance. Concerned about the safety of his prospective base at Point Isabel, Taylor decided to see it for himself. So he took the seven companies of Twiggs’s 2d Dragoons and turned eastward, sending Worth, with the three infantry brigades, to find a camping ground along the road leading to Matamoros. Worth camped at a pond called Palo Alto.
At Point Isabel Taylor found good news and bad news. His seaborne tail had arrived safely only three hours before his own appearance, and the Porpoise, Lawrence, and Woodbury were sitting reassuringly just offshore. On the other hand, some of the buildings in the small village of El Fronton had been set on fire, reportedly on the order of General Francisco Mejía, commanding at Matamoros. And a copy of a rousing call to arms published by Mejía portended hostility.‖
Taylor did not linger at Point Isabel. Early on March 28 he rejoined his troops at Palo Alto, and before noon his small force, colors flying and bands playing, was marching upstream along the left bank of the Rio Grande in full view of Matamoros.
Here the Americans saw Mexican territory for the first time. Once halted and “at ease,” they were able to peer across the hundred-yard river to see the opposite bank lined with sentinels, the Mexican flag flying everywhere in the small town behind. Only a few men and women mingled about, looking nonchalant, but all the boats along the river had been taken to the Mexican side.
At first the atmosphere was not openly hostile. That afternoon, in fact, the Americans were startled by the sight of young women strolling down to the riverside, disrobing without hesitation, and plunging into the stream, ignoring the numerous spectators on either bank. Some young American officers reacted quickly, plunging in from the American side to join them. The Mexican guards forbade them to cross the center of the river, however, “so they returned after kissing their hands to the tawny damsels, which was laughingly returned.”11
That afternoon, however, the reality of the situation became more apparent. Taylor decided to send a communication to General Mejía, in Matamoros, and to carry it he designated General Worth, whom he treated as his deputy despite Twiggs’s higher rank in the regular service. Worth’s men displayed a white flag on the American Bank, and the Mexicans, seeing it, sent a small party across in a boat. The members, two cavalry officers and an interpreter, were the same ones who had issued the warning at the Arroyo Colorado.
Immediately, the matter of protocol made things difficult. Mejía, desiring a full-fledged conference between himself and Taylor, refused to treat with Taylor’s subordinate, but said he would allow General Rómolo Díaz de la Vega, Mejía’s second in command, to represent him. Worth then crossed to the Mexican bank of the river, taking five aides with him. La Vega received him with “becoming courtesy and respect,” whereupon Worth produced the dispatch that Taylor had intended for Mejía. La Vega listened as the interpreter read its contents to him.
The positions of the two sides were clear-cut and contradictory. La Vega told Worth that, speaking for Mejía, the Mexicans regarded Taylor’s march through the Mexican State of Tamaulipas (between the Nueces and the Rio Grande) as an act of war. Worth replied that the march was not so considered by the United States government and that Taylor’s army would remain there, “whether rightfully or otherwise,” until ordered by his superiors to withdraw. The matter of the disputed territory would be settled between the two governments. Worth added that he had been sent as a courier, not as a negotiator, and if he could not see Mejía in person, he would withdraw the letter. He had allowed it to be read to La Vega only as a matter of courtesy.
But La Vega insisted on arguing. If Mexican troops were to march into United States territory, how would the United States view the matter? Worth answered with a proverb: “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” He then stated that the Americans would deal with such a situation when it occurred. The interpreter ignored the proverb, but La Vega, who obviously understood English, smiled and shrugged.
But there was a great deal more that Worth wanted to know.
“Is the American consul at Matamoros in arrest?”
“No.”
“Then I demand to see him.”
No reply.
“Has Mexico declared war against the United States?”
“No.”
“Are the two countries still at peace?”
“Yes.”
“Then I demand,” said Worth, “to see the consul of my government.”
At that point, La Vega sent a messenger to Mejía transmitting Worth’s demand. He soon returned with a denial of what Mejía called a “request.”
To all intents and purposes, that ended the conference. Worth invited the Mexicans to send a courier, who he promised would be received by General Taylor in person. And after La Vega had complained at the sight of the Stars and Stripes flying over Mexican territory, Worth declared that it would remain and that any incursion by Mexican forces on the left bank of the river would be considered an act of war. Worth then returned to the American side.12
Two opposing military forces, at peace in name only, now glared at each other across the Rio Grande. Conflict seemed inevitable.
On Friday, February 13, 1846, an unusual visitor called on President James Polk at the White House. He was Colonel Alejandro José Atocha, a Spaniard by birth but a naturalized citizen of the United States. Atocha had paid his respects to Polk some months earlier, but that meeting had not been memorable; this one would be.
Atocha represented himself as a friend of the deposed Mexican president Santa Anna, living in Havana since his escape from Mexico a year earlier. A month previously Atocha had seen Santa Anna, who, Atocha confided to Polk, was expecting soon to return to power. Atocha even intimated that the recent Paredes coup in Mexico City had actually been a front for Santa Anna himself.a
Santa Anna, Atocha claimed, wanted to bargain. In exchange for the sum of $30 million, he would accept a boundary between the United States and Mexico running along the Rio Grande to the Colorado River in the West, thence through the Bay of San Francisco to the Pacific Ocean—essentially ceding to the United States all of present New Mexico and northern California. The money, Santa Anna believed, would pay off the most pressing Mexican debts, support the army, and place the government on a stable footing.
Santa Anna was surprised, Atocha continued, that the United States had previously accommodated the tottering Herrera government by withdrawing its naval squadron from Veracruz and had not ordered General Taylor forward from Corpus Christi. The Mexicans, he contended, would never negotiate without the threat of force. Polk did not mention that he had sent Conner back to Veracruz and had sent Taylor forward a month earlier. The meeting ended inconclusively.
Three days later Atocha was back with the same message, further embellished with a warning that no Mexican government could publicly endorse such a proposal as Santa Anna’s and survive. The terms, therefore, would have to appear to be forced upon the Mexicans by the Americans. An army on the Rio Grande, a strong naval force assembled off Veracruz, and the departure of Slidell from Jalapa would probably be enough by way of overt action. In particular the archbishop of Mexico City would be placated when he learned that the Mexican government would now be able to pay him the half million dollars it owed him. Atocha closed by quoting Santa Anna: “When you see the President, tell him to take strong measures, and such a treaty can be made and I will sustain it.”13
Polk was at least mildly suspicious of Atocha, but the visit had inspired him to take some action. At first he was tempted to send a special agent to meet directly with Santa Anna. He brought the matter to his cabinet, whose members demurred, and Polk did not feel strongly enough about the matter to insist. He then considered ordering Slidell to board an American naval vessel, there to await Santa Anna’s return. But Slidell’s latest note indicated that he was still hoping to be received by the Paredes government. And, since he had learned that the British were preparing for war in Oregon, Polk considered it prudent to do nothing for the moment.14
The situation with Britain was indeed heating up. Based on an alarming report from McLane, in London, Polk sent a conciliatory message to Lord Aberdeen reinvoking the old 49th parallel proposal and conceding limited rights for Britain to navigate the Columbia River. If the British agreed, then Polk would consult an executive session of the Senate for its “advice.” From his original position of demanding all of Oregon, Polk had backed down a long way.
But Congress was taking initiatives in the matter—or, at least, several factions were pulling in different directions. Calhoun, George McDuffie, and others in the Senate were promoting a resolution directing Polk to settle the Oregon conflict by compromise. Others were demanding the full Oregon territory. So Polk decided to wait. He remained truculent in public but in private was far less so. He would be content if only the Senate would approve his sending the Notice to Britain terminating the joint occupation.15
The Senate debate over the Notice raged on for a month, with the British watching every move. Polk could only express his frustrations to his diary: “The truth is that in all this Oregon discussion in the Senate, too many Democratic Senators have been more concerned about the Presidential election in ’48 than they have been about settling Oregon at 49 degrees or 54–40.”16
But finally the logjam broke. On April 23, 1846, the two houses of Congress approved Polk’s sending the Notice. Joint occupation of Oregon would terminate in one year regardless of what might happen at the negotiating table. In the meantime, Britain was still arming, and war over Oregon remained a real possibility.
While the Oregon question was boiling Polk was watching Slidell’s situation in Mexico. Despite Atocha’s tantalizing “offer,” Polk and his cabinet remained convinced that they would do best by dealing with the Paredes regime. Nevertheless, the Atocha visit had reawakened Polk’s hopes that concessions from Mexico could be exacted more easily by offers of American dollars than by threats of force. If Slidell could be authorized to pay half a million or more dollars on the signing of a treaty, Paredes would survive in power at least long enough for a treaty to be ratified. The cabinet agreed.
This kind of diplomacy, of course, had to be handled delicately. It would be difficult to put the money in Slidell’s hands “without exposing to the public and to foreign governments its object.” But Polk recalled an 1806 act that had granted $2 million to President Jefferson for the purpose of purchasing Florida. Though the money was never used, the act had set a precedent. So despite the reservations of Buchanan (who considered any idea of Polk’s suspect), Polk invited Senator Benton to come to the White House to discuss the idea. Benton, in favor of expansion but against war, needed no convincing.17 On succeeding evenings Senators Allen and Cass also agreed. Only Calhoun, now back in the Senate, demurred. He was intent on getting the Oregon question settled peaceably before undertaking anything else.18
On April 7, however, all hope of any easy purchase of Mexican territory was dashed. Slidell reported that he would definitely not be received. Polk canceled his request for such legislative measures and considered himself committed to asking for a declaration of war against Mexico. Polk was facing a two-front war, one against Britain over Oregon, the other against Mexico on the Rio Grande.19
After the first contacts between Mexicans and Americans on the Rio Grande—the friendly swimming party and the hostile parley—the armies on both sides of the river settled down to a period of tense, watchful waiting. During the first night after the American arrival, Mejía’s troops began building breastworks and installing a twelve-pounder cannon, placed in a position where it could “rake the front face of the American camp.” In response, Taylor placed Captain James Duncan’s light artillery battery in a position pointing straight at General Mejía’s reported headquarters.b He also began the construction of an elaborate redoubt. Spurred by a sense of urgency, his men began work with an energy that amazed the Mexicans as they looked on.20 But at first neither side took hostile action.
The Americans were edgy. Half expecting an attack during the first night, they slept by their arms. At 10 P.M. the alarm sounded; a “large body of Mexican cavalry” had been detected on the American side of the river.21 As it turned out, these reports were unfounded, originating probably from nervous outposts.
Although Taylor expected Mexican reinforcements to reach Matamoros in the near future, the force already in the town did not seem to present any immediate danger. Three thousand Mexican troops were thought to be on handc but were described by one spy as “the most miserable beings,” who could be whipped by one regiment. The Mexican officers, however, were seen as “polished in their manners and fine-looking fellows.”22 How much danger this combination presented was open to question. Taylor’s army was too small to face all of Mexico, but how much of Mexico would be brought to bear? Hitchcock expected an attack; Taylor did not.d
Desertion among the American troops, new only in its magnitude, now became a serious problem. The Mexicans encouraged desertion cleverly, playing on the religious side of the Irish soldiers as fellow Catholics. Further, they gave royal treatment to two dragoons they had captured the day of arrival. The dragoons returned, flushed with glowing stories. The other soldiers listened to accounts of attractive women and congenial people, and the desertion rate became heavy, especially the first few days. When fourteen men swam the river one night, Taylor ordered drastic measures: guards were ordered to shoot. After two men were killed, mass desertions began to diminish.23
Typical of the deserters was Sergeant John Riley, a tough, handsome Irishman, who had in fact deserted from the British army in Canada, then served for some time as a West Point drillmaster, and was now a sergeant with the 5th Infantry. Claiming later that he had been “seized with the desire to go to church,” Sergeant Riley swam the river one Sunday morning and never returned. Possibly he was attracted as much by the Mexican offer of 320 acres of good Mexican land as by the love of God. But whatever the motivation, he had plenty of company; during the static period at Matamoros over two hundred men deserted, many of whom, like Riley, were foreign-born and had never been assimilated into American society. They had joined the army as an escape from an environment they took to be hostile, and now they were leaving that society behind them.24
Internal army politics continued to plague Taylor. Days after arrival at Matamoros Taylor received President Polk’s ruling on the brevet question: it sided with Taylor and Twiggs by declaring that regular rank would take precedence over brevet. General Worth, that proud, aggressive, vain officer, sulked for five days, then turned in his resignation. Taylor—perhaps to Worth’s surprise—accepted it on the spot, and Worth left the Rio Grande on April 8. A disgusted Hitchcock could not help asking himself “what would have been thought of the patriotism of a revolutionary officer who had abandoned his post in the presence of the enemy on an alleged grievance which, in the opinion of almost everybody, is without any proper or defensible foundation.”25 (Ironically, three days later Hitchcock himself applied for leave home on the basis of ill health.)
Materially, the Matamoros site provided little to complain about. It was early spring, before the heat, with clear days and nights, and steady sea breezes. The camping ground, a plowed field, was difficult to walk on, but an abundance of wood was available, and the Rio Grande provided good fresh water.26 But though the climate was generally agreeable, it was not always calm. About ten days after arrival a violent storm nearly demolished camp. Kirby Smith and his younger brother barely saved their “frail house.”27
On April 9, 1846, Taylor’s army was shaken when Colonel Truman Cross, Taylor’s quartermaster, failed to return from a routine horseback ride. Cross was a popular officer, and fears for his safety grew when the army learned that Antonio Canales with his hated “rancheros” (guerrillas) had been detected in the vicinity. As the days dragged on without news of Cross his fate became an obsession in the camp.
While the Americans grieved for Cross the Mexicans in Matamoros learned that General Pedro de Ampudia would soon arrive with about three thousand additional men. Though grateful for the reinforcements, the people of Matamoros were dismayed at the appointment of this forty-two-year-old Cuban because of his well-earned reputation for needless cruelty. He had attained the sobriquet of “the assassin of Sentmanat,” because of his execution of one Francisco Sentmanat in 1844, in which he fried his victim’s head in oil, the better to preserve it for display in the public square of San Juan Batista.28 Moreover, Ampudia was considered an opportunist and an incompetent,29 appointed only because he had seconded Paredes’s pronunciamento at San Luis Potosí the previous December. Because of all this, the townspeople of Matamoros immediately wrote to President Paredes, asking that another general be sent, hinting that General Mariano Arista might be the man.30
Ampudia, unaware of the attitude prevalent at Matamoros, arrived on April 11, eager to cross the Rio Grande and give battle at once, even though Paredes would not declare his “defensive” war for another twelve days. Ampudia began preparations for an attack to be executed as early as the fifteenth, the day after his reinforcing troops were scheduled to arrive. In preparation, he sent Taylor an ultimatum threatening war unless there was an American withdrawal to the Nueces River within twenty-four hours:
To Don Z. Taylor:… I require you in all form, and at the latest in the peremptory term of twenty-four hours, to break up your camp and return to the east bank of the Nueces River while our Governments are regulating the pending question in relation to Texas. If you insist on remaining upon the soil of the Department of Tamaulipas, it will certainly result that arms, and arms alone, must decide the question; and in that case I advise you that we accept the war to which, with so much injustice on your part, you provoke us.…31
Taylor responded, politely but unambiguously: “I regret the alternative which you offer; but, at the same time, wish it understood that I shall by no means avoid such alternative.…”32
Ampudia doubtless expected such a reply, but as he was preparing to respond, on the evening of April 14, he learned that he was soon to be replaced by General Arista. Desperately, he called a council of war requesting support for going ahead with the attack on the basis that Mexico City was unaware of the situation at the river. Ampudia’s officers, though also eager for action, refused to disobey the orders of Paredes. Without the support of any of his officers, Ampudia had no choice but to await the arrival of Arista and then to serve under him.e
On April 15 General Taylor considered the two nations at war by force of Ampudia’s ultimatum. Accordingly, he gave orders to the ships Conner had left with him to blockade the mouth of the Rio Grande. The American naval commander at the Brazos Santiago was to stop all vessels and remove all munitions of war and food bound for Matamoros. With six thousand Mexican troops in that small city, rations would soon be short, and the Mexican command would be forced to act.33
In the American camp, meanwhile, the urge grew to investigate the fate of Colonel Cross. One individual attempt was suspicious, to say the least: a lieutenant swam the Rio Grande, ostensibly to look for Cross, and was immediately captured, evoking nobody’s sympathy. But on the official side, Lieutenant David Porterf set out with a patrol of ten men to the vicinity of Cross’s presumed death. The patrol was ambushed, and Porter was brutally murdered. Cross’s body was found shortly after that, and nobody had any doubts that he had died at the hands of “a party from the other side who were hovering around the camp.” A thirst for revenge set in among the Americans.g
General Mariano Arista, age forty-three, freckled and sandy-haired, was one of the most respected of the Mexican generals. Some years before, he had fallen out with Santa Anna and had taken refuge in the United States until Santa Anna’s fall in late 1844.34 But despite his connections with the Americans Arista was no less eager to take action against Taylor than Ampudia had been. On April 23, even before he arrived at Matamoros, he sent General Anastasio Torrejón, with 1,600 cavalrymen, to cross the Rio Grande a few miles upstream of Taylor’s army. Taylor, in response, sent Captain Seth Thornton, with a patrol of only sixty-three dragoons, to intercept them. The American patrol was ambushed; sixteen men were killed or wounded and all the rest, including its commander, were captured.
On Sunday, April 26, General Taylor reported the action to Washington: “… Hostilities may now be considered as commenced.”35
At the same time he called on the governor of Texas for four regiments of volunteers—not state militia. Those volunteers would be unencumbered by the embarrassing strictures of the Constitution against use in enemy territory.
In Washington President James Polk was preparing to send a war message to a skeptical Congress, though he was not quite certain that Congress would accede to such a declaration. By Tuesday, May 5, however, he had learned of Ampudia’s ultimatum and of Taylor’s blockade of the mouth of the Rio Grande, and although there was still no word of actual hostilities, Polk was confident that he had only to wait for such a report.
On Friday, May 8, John Slidell returned from Mexico and called on Polk. Perhaps defensive over the failure of his mission, Slidell was vociferous in insisting that the United States take “redress” of Mexican “wrongs and injuries” and “act with promptness and energy”—by which he meant war. Polk was inclined to agree. The people of the United States, he reasoned, had taken Slidell’s rejection as a national insult, which was only the latest in a series at that.h It was “only a matter of time,” he told Slidell, before he would “make such a communication to the Congress.”36
The next day, Saturday, Polk met again with his cabinet. Only Buchanan and Secretary of the Navy George Bancroft were fearful of congressional resistance to war and of hostility from the British. Polk overrode them, declaring that ample cause for war already existed, that he could not “stand in the status quo” any longer, and that he was obligated to submit a war message to Congress by the coming Tuesday—any failure to do so would constitute neglect of his duty.37 In a final poll, only Bancroft held out against war; even Buchanan grudgingly assented. Polk resolved to submit the message on Tuesday.
At 6 P.M. that evening the pace of events accelerated further. Adjutant General Roger Jones called on the President, and in his hand was Taylor’s dispatch of April 26 warning that hostilities had commenced. Late in the day though it was, the Washington Union still managed to carry the flash in the evening edition: “American blood has been shed on American soil!” it screamed. And its editor, the loyal Thomas Ritchie, somehow managed to place the blame for Taylor’s dangerous position on Taylor himself. Though the general had been authorized to call for volunteers, the news article blandly stated, he had, unfortunately, “not made his call in time to secure himself against all possible contingencies.”38
Polk then called an evening meeting of the cabinet. This time Polk met no resistance, even from Bancroft; he would now send his war message to Congress on Monday rather than Tuesday.
With that decision, the White House became a center of intense activity. Clerks from the State and War departments scurried across Washington to begin copying the previous correspondence between Slidell and the Mexican government, as well as that between the War Department and Taylor, all of which would be included with Polk’s message. Buchanan and Bancroft, the two erstwhile dissenters, stayed on to assist the President in preparing the message. Buchanan, fortunately, had already compiled a “history of our causes of complaint” against Mexico.
The next morning, Sunday, Polk was at his desk again, the excitement on the streets outside constantly reminding him of the need to submit his message the next day. The President suspended his efforts for only a little over an hour, long enough to take his wife, niece, and nephew to church. After lunch his labors were broken only by calls from selected persons, largely members of Congress, whom he had invited to come and share their views. He finished working at 10:30 P.M., later recording piously that he “regretted the necessity which had existed to make it necessary for me to spend the Sabbath in the manner I have.”i
Polk’s message was a long, exhaustive lawyer’s brief. The Mexicans, of course, were castigated, and sorrow was expressed that the “grievous wrongs perpetrated upon our citizens throughout a long period of years remain unredressed.” The United States’ forbearance, it claimed, had been exhausted, “even before the recent information from the frontier of the Del Norte.”j But Mexico had invaded our territory, and had shed American blood. The two nations were now at war, and Mexico was entirely to blame.39 This viewpoint was a masterpiece of rationalization. The kindest thing that can be said about Polk’s message is that he probably believed it himself.
On Monday, May 11, 1846, the House of Representatives sat for an hour and a half while the clerk read Polk’s message and the pertinent documents attached. Then, after only a thirty-minute debate, that body voted to approve Polk’s recommendations by the one-sided count of 173 to 14. The fourteen votes against the measure, however, would later assume importance, as the dissenters were led by former President John Quincy Adams himself, and the group would later be dubbed the “Immortal Fourteen” in New England. And the man privileged to carry the news of the lopsided vote to Polk, during the late afternoon, was none other than Slidell himself.
The Senate took longer, with Calhoun and Benton stubbornly demurring. For a while it appeared that a small group of Democratic senators might join with a united Whig party to defeat Polk’s declaration. But opposition was all bombast; even the Senate could not deny the President the means to conduct a war that already existed. The next evening word came to the White House that the Senate also had approved by a vote of 40 to 2. Calhoun, who had spoken in opposition, had abstained. War with Mexico was now officially a fact.
Polk’s determination to manipulate a war with Mexico appears to have had the effect of making Britain more cooperative. By June 12, a month after the declaration, Britain and the United States had agreed on a compromise line for the division of Oregon. The boundary between the United States and Canada would run along the 49th parallel to the Strait of San Juan de Fuca, ceding to Britain all of Vancouver Island and granting her unrestricted navigation of the Columbia River until 1859. On June 15, 1846, Buchanan and Pakenham signed a treaty, and three days later the Senate ratified it by a vote of 41 to 14.
Polk could congratulate himself. The specter of simultaneous wars with Mexico and Britain had been averted. Now he could turn his attentions, with minimal distraction, to the war in the South.
* Taylor to TAG, October 4, 1845, Exec. Doc. No. 60, p. 108. Army customs of the day dictated that all field commanders address communications to the adjutant of the next higher headquarters. In this case, the adjutant general of the War Department was Brigadier General Roger Jones. Polk’s messages to Taylor were signed by either Secretary of War Marcy or the adjutant general.
† In early November, Taylor reported that the On-ka-hy-e had sailed from Aransas Bay to Mobile a month earlier and had not returned. The Harney had been reported by her commander as “now lying in the Mississippi River,” unsafe to go to sea. The Dolphin had not been heard of. Taylor to TAG, November 8, 1845, Exec. Doc. No. 60, p. 113.
‡ George Meade, Life and Letters, letter to his wife, February 18, March 2, 1846. On February 14 Taylor had warned Washington: “Many reports will doubtless reach the department, giving exaggerated accounts of Mexican preparations to resist our advance, if not indeed to attempt an invasion of Texas. Such reports have been circulated even at this place, and owe their origin to personal interests connected with the stay of the army here. I trust that they will receive no attention at the War Department.”
§ Taylor had his own transports, such as the Alabama. But they were not armed. Hence the need for naval escorts.
‖ Taylor to TAG March 25, 1846. The document actually reached Taylor at the Arroyo Colorado.
a James K. Polk, Diary February 13, 1846. There is evidence against this. Dr. Miguel Soto, of the Universidad Nacional Autonoma De Mexico, states unequivocally that Paredes was on the Spanish payroll, a stalking-horse for the reestablishment of some sort of monarchical rule. See Soto, “The Monarchist Conspiracy and the Mexican War.”
b Philip Barbour, Journals, letter to his wife, March 29, 46, pp. 20–21. Taylor’s guide, named Chipita, had lived a long time in Matamoros.
c The estimate was fairly accurate. Ramón Alcaraz, The Other Side, p. 36, reports Mexican units as including an engineer company (sappers), the 2d Infantry Regiment (light), the 1st and 10th infantry regiments, the 7th Cavalry Regiment, several companies of the border guards, a battalion of the Matamoros National Guard, and twenty artillery pieces, three thousand men in all. They were reinforced a few days later with the 6th Marine Regiment and a battalion of the Tampico coastal defense troops.
d Kirby Smith, Letters, p. 35. Ethan Allen Hitchcock, Fifty Years in Camp, p. 218. George Meade, Life and Letters, p. 54. The most balanced view was taken by the articulate Major Philip N. Barbour:
In a military point of view General Taylor has committed a blunder, I think, in coming here with so small a force; although I do not apprehend we can be whipped by the Mexican force now on this frontier, yet it is but reasonable to expect that their people will rush in to defend their own firesides, and they might raise an army of 10,000 men in a short time, while we are cut off, not only from retreat, but from all succor. Considering this, it is truly surprising to see with what indifference, not to say contempt, our Officers and men look upon the Mexican batteries frowning upon us. No one seems to think a disaster to our Army a thing possible, and most of the Army are impatient and disappointed that General Taylor does not create a pretext for taking the town. Barbour, Journals, letter to his wife, March 30, 1846, p. 23.
e Alcaraz, pp. 39–41; Cadmus Wilcox, History of the Mexican War, p. 43. Mexican commanders, when superseded, usually remained and served under their successors.
f Porter was the son of the famous naval officer whose ships had actually assisted the Mexicans in the revolution against Spain a quarter century earlier.
g Meade, letter April 22, 1846., pp. 67–68. “I am sorry to tell you the remains of Colonel Cross have been found, and it is now placed beyond a doubt that he was foully assassinated by a party from the other side who were hovering around our camp, and that at the very time General Ampudia replied to General Taylor’s letter, denying any knowledge of his disappearance, it is now known he was wearing the watch of the unfortunate victim, and some other officers riding his horse.… He will be buried with the honors of war, though his poor son intends taking him to Washington with him.… This dastardly act, and the mean lie of the commanding-general on the other side, have inspired us all with a burning desire to avenge the Colonel’s murder, and have destroyed all the sympathy that some few did still entertain for a people they deemed unjustly treated.…”
Unlike the fate of Cross, however, the officers of the army regarded Porter’s death as honorable, “a soldier’s fate in so gallant a manner.” The fact that he “made three of his enemies bite the dust before he fell,” and that the “cowardly” enemy had allowed nine men to escape, seems to have provided more satisfaction than grief. Meade, letter, April 21, 1846, p. 66.
h “The indignity to our minister requires atonement,” said the New Orleans Picayune; the St. Louis Republican declared that the United States owed it to her character and dignity “not to suffer so open an insult to her representative to pass unnoticed.” Polk, pp. 81–82.
i Polk, May 9, 10, 1846, pp. 84–86. Callers included Senator Sam Houston, Congressman Barclay Martin, all members of the cabinet individually except Marcy (indisposed), Messrs. Haralson and Baker from the House, and Chief Justice Ingersoll.
j Del Norte was a term frequently used in referring to the Rio Grande.
