APRIL 26–MAY 17, 1846
Taylor had no time to ponder. A sizable Mexican force, he knew, was on the east bank of the Rio Grande, upstream of his army, though he had no idea of its strength. But of one thing he was sure: he could not afford to sit and await developments. Back at Point Isabel he had left a supply depot without adequate defense; at Matamoros he had a defense without supplies. And a report that three Mexican regiments had attacked Major Monroe’s small garrison gave him alarm.* If the enemy was across the river in that strength, he reasoned, he could not afford to send back a train with only the normal security escort; any expedition smaller than his entire army would be seriously endangered. So in the early afternoon of May 1, 1846, Taylor struck his tents at Matamoros. He left the 7th Infantry to hold the makeshift defenses of “Fort Texas” and moved out with his three hundred wagons.
Taylor’s was a high-spirited army, conscious of marching to Point Isabel not only for supplies but also for a fight. The men held no hatred for the Mexicans—on the contrary, the account given by Thornton of the considerate treatment accorded him and his men in captivity had brought forth expressions of gratitude.† But they realized that they would not be safe from further such actions until the Mexican army in the area was roundly defeated. And another intangible entered the picture: Taylor’s force of regulars knew they would soon become diluted by the influx of thousands of volunteers, who would inevitably receive all the credit for any future victory in which they participated. So Taylor’s men were itching to win a victory for which the Regular Army—and the Regular Army alone—could claim the laurels. If that was to happen, the enemy must be met soon.‡
The 7th Infantry, left behind at Fort Texas, was a proud regiment, nicknamed the Cotton Balers because of their heroic defense behind bales of cotton in the Battle of New Orleans during the War of 1812. It was commanded by Major Jacob Brown, a fifty-eight-year-old native of Massachusetts, who had signed up as a private thirty years before. An officer of the 7th Infantry ever since, Brown had earned high respect for his military conduct and impeccable integrity. His regiment was reinforced by two artillery batteries of eight guns: one battery consisted of four powerful eighteen-pounders. The other, commanded by Lieutenant Braxton Bragg, included three six-pounders and a mortar. Though Bragg’s light artillery would be of limited use in a fixed emplacement, Taylor felt that Major Brown needed the extra firepower. And as if to make the cook taste his own dish first, Taylor detailed Captain Joseph K. F. Mansfield, the engineer who had designed the fortifications and supervised their construction, to remain with Brown also.
Camp women as well as soldiers remained with the regiment. One was to become more famous than most of the combatants. Her name was Sarah Borginnis, better known as the Great Western after a noted steamship of the day. Her legend as one of the most colorful figures of the Southwest had already begun. A strapping, muscular woman six feet in height, she reputedly could trounce any man in the regiment, and once had nearly done so when an unwary soldier made an untoward remark to her back at Corpus Christi. At the Arroyo Colorado she had reportedly offered to cross the stream herself and “straighten out” the entire Mexican army.1 But despite her strength and pugnacity, she was physically attractive, with dark hair and gray-blue eyes, and she could be tender of heart when the situation called for it. She cared for her boys, refusing the easy journey by water from Corpus Christi to the Rio Grande on the basis that they needed her services as laundress and cook. Regulations specified that only married women could accompany an army in the field, but that detail presented no problem to the Great Western, for she was currently the wife of a soldier of the 7th Infantry.§ Though officially a noncombatant, she and her like shared the hardships and the dangers of the troops.
Taylor’s determination to complete Fort Texas before marching off to Point Isabel caused him to delay longer than he would have liked, but the time was well spent. Situated on a strategic point in the course of the winding Rio Grande, the position dominated the river both upstream and down. Three of its six redans commanded the town of Matamoros to its front. Its eight-hundred-yard perimeter consisted of a wall over nine feet high and fifteen feet thick at its base, surrounded by a ditch eight feet deep. Though of necessity it was built entirely of earth, it was considered secure against twelve-pounders, the largest guns that the Mexicans could bring to bear. Inside, Taylor left the garrison with two weeks’ rations and what was assumed to be ample ammunition. The fort should have no trouble holding out pending Taylor’s return—given reasonable good fortune.
On May 1, the same day that Taylor left Fort Texas, General Arista left Colonel Mejía with a small garrison in Matamoros and moved the main body of his army downstream of the Rio Grande toward a place called Longoreno, where he intended to cross to the left bank. Torrejón, who was still upstream of Taylor, was thereupon ordered to make a wide sweep around the rear of Taylor’s army and join Arista at Longoreno. If all went well, Arista would then have his entire force concentrated in Taylor’s rear, between the Americans and their supply depot at Point Isabel. It was a good plan, though perhaps the rough route assigned to Torrejón was too long to allow Arista to calculate the exact time to cover it.
Arista’s army was in a strange mood. Conscious of their numerical superiority, they marched with careless abandon—but their confidence was brittle, shaken partly by the backbiting and recriminations among the officers. General Ampudia had not taken his relief stoically, and was sowing mistrust of Arista at all opportunities; Arista himself was uncomfortable with the fact that his plan had been pressed on him by the Ministry of War back in Mexico City. His own lack of confidence must have been contagious.2
The operation ran into snags from the start. Torrejón’s wing moved slower than expected, and when the man reached Longoreno, they found only two boats on hand to ferry them across; twenty-four hours were consumed in carrying the combat elements alone. By the time Arista had drawn his force up on the east bank, scouts informed him that Taylor’s force had already passed in the direction of Point Isabel. The Mexicans had moved too slowly; Taylor had slipped out of the trap.
But Arista was not discouraged. He would find a good position and await Taylor’s inevitable return. As soon as the guns at Matamoros began to bombard the American fortification on the opposite side, Taylor would feel compelled to leave Point Isabel and return to the aid of the garrison. Then, outnumbered, he would be forced to attack Arista’s superior force.3
Meanwhile Zachary Taylor was pushing his army hard toward Point Isabel. He was an anxious man, hardly the cool and collected commander depicted in later political posters. Conflicting reports had come from Major Monroe, and he was disturbed to learn that Captain Sam Walker’s company of Texas rangers‖ had lost ten men to a ranchero raid on the night of April 29, which signaled a sobering aggressiveness on the part of the Mexicans. Thus spurred on, Taylor drove his men so ruthlessly that even the tough veterans complained: departure in midafternoon, short sleep with no campfires, moving on at dawn to Point Isabel—nearly thirty miles, over rough country, in less than twenty-one hours. Stonewall Jackson’s “foot cavalry” would never do better.
Taylor arrived at Point Isabel at noon on May 2. Feverishly he began loading his three hundred wagons and strengthening the depot’s meager defenses. Fort Polk, as he had named the position, needed much work because it was vulnerable to enemy attack from the mainland side. Shortly after Taylor’s arrival his work was interrupted by the sound of artillery fire from the direction of Matamoros and Fort Texas. Forty years later Ulysses S. Grant, would recall: “… for myself, a young second-lieutenant who had never heard a hostile gun before, I felt sorry that I had enlisted.”4
Taylor once more faced a dilemma, torn between completing the defenses at Point Isabel and a strong urge to march back and reinforce his troops at Fort Texas. He knew, however, that he had prepared the 7th Infantry for a two-week siege, and before reacting sent a body of Texans, under Sam Walker, to make contact with Major Brown. Walker was familiar with the territory and was confident that he could get through and return. And perhaps he could partially regain face after the humiliating surprise his rangers had endured a few evenings before.
The evening of May 1 had passed pleasantly at Fort Texas. Then, the next evening, the garrison heard church bells ringing in Matamoros. As the men peered curiously across the river they saw a procession of priests and monks on the opposite bank, moving from one artillery position to another, blessing every gun.
The Mexican cannons opened fire the next morning. But as the bombardment progressed Brown and his men realized that the fort would hold despite the heavy fire. Its design, and the backbreaking labor that had gone into its construction, were paying off. The siege, they knew, would settle down to a test of will; the noise and the fatigue of staying constantly alert—through the next week, it turned out—would tax the endurance of the garrison. One veteran soldier later admitted that he “would rather have fought twenty battles” than have passed through that bombardment.5
As of May 5, only one man in Fort Texas had been killed in the artillery storm—Sergeant Weigart, of the 7th Infantry—but his fate was macabre: after Weigart was killed instantly by a shell, his body was then hit by another as it lay on the surgeon’s table, and then, after burial, it was exhumed by a third, which exploded on his grave.6 Several other men were wounded, and Sarah Borginnis, who at one point had a plate of food shattered in her hand, was kept frantically busy. But she took care of the men—and of the women as well.
Walker reported back to Taylor on May 5. Although the rest of his men had been unable to get through, Walker himself had actually reached Fort Texas and conferred with Major Brown. Brown’s report was optimistic. The Mexican twelve-pounders had been silenced; the only piece still firing was a single mortar, placed too low to hit. Brown had been abstemious with his ammunition, was in high spirits, and expected to hold out as long as his provisions lasted. Though Walker had heard some small arms firing after his departure, Taylor was reassured and remained at Point Isabel for two more days.a
Taylor’s Army of Occupation left Point Isabel on May 7, determined to shoot their way back to Fort Texas. Major William W. S. Bliss, Taylor’s adjutant, issued a general order before leaving: the army would march at three o’clock that afternoon, and if the enemy was still on the route, the general would give battle. He had no doubt of the result. Bliss finished with Taylor’s watchword: “[The general] wishes to enjoin upon the battalions of Infantry that their main dependence must be in the bayonet.”7
Taylor’s army marched seven miles on the Matamoros road that evening; the next morning they struck out again across the broad, incredibly flat plain. Progress was slow through the sand, but after eleven miles, at the pond of Palo Alto, Taylor’s lead scouts uncovered Arista’s army, drawn up in a double line a mile in length, barring the Matamoros road.
This was a tense moment, the one that Taylor’s men had been training for these last nine months, the one they had been wishing for ever since the Thornton disaster. But the circumstances were awkward. Taylor, not Arista, had been surprised and Taylor knew he must break through a superior force, outnumbered by nearly three to one.
Arista had arrived only that morning, but he had chosen his position well. And despite his superiority in numbers, he was content to defend, for he knew that the pressure was on Taylor. Taylor sent two young engineers, Jacob Blake and Lloyd Tilghman, to reconnoiter, and they reported that Arista’s flanks were secure—one sealed by an impassable swamp, the other by a wooded knoll. The center of Arista’s position was flat, but high chaparral limited visibility, as did the fact that the defensive line lay just south of a bend in the road. Moreover, Taylor’s massive supply trains—three hundred wagons and hundreds of mules and oxen—were unusually vulnerable to cavalry attack. Since Taylor could not move them into the dense woods for protection, Arista’s cavalry might ride around Taylor’s column and plunder his lifeline. Taylor protected his wagon park with a squadron of dragoons and a couple of artillery pieces,8 but protecting that Achilles’ heel cost him valuable troops.
The move from the road into a line of skirmishers was done quickly, for Taylor’s small regiments, averaging fewer than three hundred men each, could maneuver off the road smartly, and his whole column could pass a point in half an hour. And Arista allowed him to do so. He did not attack; he waited.
Taylor, too, delayed, allowing his men to fill their canteens in the pond, half of them at a time. Then he moved his troops into line. He placed the 8th Infantry on the left (Duncan’s light artillery battery supporting), then the 4th, the 3d, and the 5th infantries. Sam Ringgold’s light artillery battery was with the 5th Infantry on the right. The heavy eighteen-pounders in the center would fire from the road, between the 3d and 4th infantries. The “long roll sounds, hearts beat, pulses keep time, and knees tremble and will not be still.”b Taylor himself sat sidesaddle on his mount, Old Whitey, and contemplated the field, a chaw of tobacco in his cheek.
Old Zack did not have to wait long. Soon the Mexican artillery opened up from a range of seven hundred yards. But the Mexicans lacked high explosive shells, and their artillery balls struck the ground before the Americans, bouncing along so slowly that they could be ducked. Now Taylor’s artillery began hitting back, and the day that his young artillerists had waited for was here. Out in front went the batteries of Ringgold, Duncan, Ridgeley, and Bragg,c unlimbering and pouring fire, one round a minute, into the Mexican ranks.
Arista would have liked to attack. His men were falling all around him, and the Yankee artillery would have no more effect on his lines up close than it was having back here. But Arista realized that he could never control his infantry through that chaparral, so he decided to attack only with his cavalry. Along Taylor’s right flank came the thundering lancers. The 8th Infantry, soon to be surrounded, quickly formed a hollow square, and Ringgold poured fire into the oncoming ranks. Torrejón’s men paused. Then they dropped back, leaving many horsemen behind. The U.S. infantry had performed its only maneuver of the day, rotating its right flank forward, not to attack the enemy but to provide a position from which to “sustain Ringgold.”d
The two sides paused to catch their breath. Arista tried another cavalry assault on Taylor’s left, toward Taylor’s exposed train. But his horsemen had lost their zeal, and they also fell back.
By late afternoon neither side had accomplished anything decisive. But maybe the gods were tired of this battle, for they set the grass on fire; bladed prairie grass burned like straws. The smoke blinded both armies—already blind enough from the oppressive chaparral. Many Mexican wounded, lying on the field, tragically burned to death.e When the smoke cleared, Taylor sent a force of dragoons forward on a hard ride toward the Mexican wagon park. But the Mexican trains were covered also. Luckily for the Americans, Arista had no flying artillery to cut them down; they returned nearly unscathed.
Arista’s confused soldiers now demanded that the slaughter end. They could not reach their enemy and close in a glorious charge; they were being killed unmercifully at long range. Arista reluctantly complied.
But the battle was indecisive. If rated on points, Taylor could claim victory, as he had lost only four men killed and forty-two officers and men wounded; some five hundred Mexican bodies lay on the field. But he had not broken through; Arista had not fled—he had merely withdrawn a short distance. Taylor would be forced to fight again.
For the most part, the American casualties at Palo Alto had been minimal. But Taylor had lost two officers, mortally wounded. Sam Ringgold had had both thighs torn out, and Captain John Page had lost his lower jaw to a Mexican cannonball. Both men died slowly at Point Isabel. A particular loss to the army was the death of Ringgold, the pioneer of the invaluable Flying Artillery. But, in a way, Ringgold’s greatest service had been performed even before Palo Alto, when he had developed that weapon and had trained the artillerists who would use it in this and later battles.
Arista’s men spent a miserable night, mourning their dead and dreading the next day’s battle. Portions of the grass fire still raged, its “sinister splendor”9 illuminating the camp. The surgeon to whom the medicine chests had been entrusted had disappeared in the fire that afternoon; the luckier among the wounded were piled into wagons and sent back to Matamoros. Worst of all, Mexican morale had been dealt a devastating blow. After decades, even centuries, of deception on the part of their leaders, Mexican troops had little real trust in them. They could be led into battle only by temporarily instilling in them a contempt for their enemies. Now, with the Americans showing unexpected strength, Arista’s army had quickly concluded that “skill and valor could never bring victory.” Immediately their thoughts turned to betrayal; even Arista himself was accused of treason. Mexican psychology went even further: they were being punished for the ambition and stupidity of their leaders. The Yankees were merely the agents of evil, sent to Mexico to chastise her.10
The next morning, at 6 A.M., Arista decided to retreat from the field of Palo Alto to a stronger position. His army, conducted by Ampudia, arrived at the new defense four hours later. Taylor did not interfere, so Arista had time to prepare for another battle.
Arista formed his second position at a place called Resaca de la Palma,11 utilizing the empty lake bed itself to bolster his defenses. The feature, typical of the region, was a onetime channel of the ever-changing Rio Grande, resembling what is called a bayou in Louisiana. Though such a formation can be dry or filled, this one was dry, and its configuration made it an admirable obstacle for defense. Arista’s reports of that evening exude confidence and optimism.
On discovering that Arista had left Palo Alto the morning of May 9, Taylor called a council of war to discuss the next move. His own inclination had always been to pursue Arista, but strong arguments existed for breaking off contact. After all, the Mexican army had not been destroyed and was still far larger than his own. Most of his officers at the conference—seven out of ten, it turned out—favored remaining at his present position and awaiting the volunteers that Taylor had called for twelve days earlier. That course might have been wise, considering the odds, but it was not Taylor’s style. He heard his officers out and then sided with the minority: “Gentlemen, you will prepare your commands to move forward.”f
Taylor’s men hit the road. After marching six miles toward Matamoros, they stopped. Taylor’s scouts had encountered Arista’s pickets, this time just north of Resaca de la Palma. Taylor rode up, scanned Arista’s position through his field glasses, and decided to attack. But today he took careful measures regarding his train. He assigned 250 men to protect them, men who were not members of regiments, and bolstered them with the two eighteen-pounders, which he had not found particularly effective the day before. The rest of his men, as he had admonished at El Fronton, could put “reliance on the bayonet.”
Taylor would have preferred to repeat his easy victory of the day before by again pounding the enemy with artillery. But the thick chaparral precluded reliance on long-range fire; so thick was it that even control of infantry was difficult. The fighting would degenerate into a melee, a collection of small actions.
In early afternoon Taylor galloped forward. There Captain George A. McCall, of the 4th Infantry, reported that the enemy had taken position in the chaparral on both the near and the far sides of the Resaca. Arista’s force was occupying a long line, but only a small portion of it counted, the area around the road to Matamoros. So Taylor placed his four infantry regiments astride that road, the 5th and the 8th in column on the left and the 3d and 4th on the right.
But first, maybe Ridgely, now commanding Ringgold’s battery, could blast a hole through Arista’s position. Ridgeley unlimbered within view of the enemy position and fired. But the chaparral hid his view, and he failed to detect a column of Mexican cavalry bearing down upon him until it was almost on top of him. Ridgeley was suddenly in dire straits. He fired one point-blank blast into the oncoming lancers, and then prepared to defend hand to hand. But the fire had had its effect; the lancers fell back. Close fighting continued among the infantry around him in the cruel, ripping chaparral.
Taylor, on hand at the critical point, was determined to move forward. Maybe the dragoons! He sent for Captain Charles May and ordered him to take his company straight against the battery of guns directly ahead. Ridgeley, aware of May’s preparations, shouted, “Wait, Charley, until I draw fire!” So saying, Ridgeley let loose a round. The Mexicans answered.
May now knew where the guns were. Forward he galloped, four horsemen abreast, confined to the road, his long black hair flying in the breeze. Like the six hundred at Balaclava some years later, he charged the guns, crossed over, and confronted Mexican General La Vega. But then, finding himself surrounded by enemy infantry—and the Mexican artillerymen returning to their pieces—he turned around and led his dragoons on a wild gallop the quarter mile back.g
Taylor witnessed the action from a vantage point. Now nearing exasperation, he turned to Colonel Belknap of the 8th Infantry: “Take those guns and by God keep them!” Belknap’s men charged. They took the guns and kept them. They kept General La Vega as well.
At about this time Arista was belatedly becoming suspicious that the battle was serious. Rushing to the front, he brushed aside the crestfallen Canares, who had had enough fighting, and personally led his lancers in one more vainglorious charge. But a few more rounds—and Mexican casualties—and Arista himself turned back.
Few of Arista’s soldiers fought in this battle—they were too spread out. But they could see what was happening, that the heart of their army had been cut out, their line of retreat to Matamoros overrun. Their spirits, already fragile, broke. When they saw the elite Mexican 2d Brigade fall back, panic set in. The rest gave up, fleeing to the rear in droves.
The Battle of Resaca de la Palma now degenerated into a rout. Taylor’s army followed the panic-stricken enemy as closely as possible to the Rio Grande. The defenders of Fort Texas, cheering and exultant, watched the fugitives go past; but Mexican batteries across the river made it impossible for them to break out and add to the casualties.
Taylor followed along in the pursuit toward Fort Texas. On arriving, he was shocked to learn that the gallant old Jacob Brown had been hit by a shell while inspecting his positions on May 5, and had died that morning. But otherwise victory was sweet. That night an elated Old Rough and Ready penned a triumphant message back to the adjutant general: “Our victory has been complete.”
And it was. Seven pieces of artillery, much ammunition, three standards, and some 100 prisoners, including General La Vega, had been taken. The losses for the two days’ battles were, as Taylor reported, 34 Americans killed, 113 wounded. For the Mexicans, he could only guess that 300 were killed; he reported burying 200; Meade later placed their losses at 1,200 killed and wounded, 300 drowned while swimming the river, and between 1,000 and 2,000 deserters.12
Now began the grisly task of burying the dead. The soldiers did their best, but the wolves and vultures did much of the job. On the lighter side, the men found great booty in General Arista’s tent. Though the silver and valuable luxuries automatically became the property of the U.S. government, piles of his writing paper fell into individual hands, and many a proud note was written home on sheets of it.
On May 17, 1846, General Taylor issued General Order No. 62. Fort Texas would hereafter be named Fort Brown, and the present city of Brownsville would grow up around it.
Years later a ferryman named Ramón would recall early May 1846:
It took me three days to ferry all the Mexican army over, crossing and crossing back, day and night, night and day. And, oh, I had much desire to go with the troops. There was musica, oh so lively, and there were the banderas all flying bright in the air, and the men were all happy and singing. But I did not go, and in three days they were back, but without any musica or banderas and not needing any ferry-boat. They came in flocks, running and crawling like tortugas, and they fell into the water flat on all fours like tortugas and never stopped till they were in the brush of the Republica Mejicana. They had been at the fight of what we call Resaca de la Palma, and I was very glad that I had not been with them.”13
* Barbour, Journals, April 27,28, pp. 49–50. General Antonio Canales, who had come back into the fold since his pronouncement at Carmago the previous winter, had reportedly led an attack of one cavalry and two infantry regiments. The report later turned out to be false.
† Thornton was placed under court-martial to investigate his conduct of the patrol action.
‡ The unanimity of this feeling is unquestionable. Barbour (p. 47), Kirby Smith (To Mexico with Scott, p. 53), and George Meade (Life and Letters, p. 76) all express it strongly.
§ One account calls her “Sarah Bourdett.” Nevertheless, her accepted name at this time was Borginnis, after her husband of the moment. During the war she changed husbands freely, cheerfully, and informally. See Samuel Chamberlain, My Confession, pp. 241–42.
‖ Walker’s company, of seventy-seven men at the time, was the only volunteer unit that up to then Taylor had permitted to serve in his army. He consented to employing these irregulars only after the death of Colonel Cross. See Barbour, p. 50.
a A great deal of publicity was accorded Walker’s exploit in the United States. In a few weeks a ship brought Walker a new horse, a present from the grateful citizens of New Orleans. Walter Webb, The Texas Rangers in the Mexican War.
b Samuel French, Two Wars. Past tense in the original.
c Brevet Major Samuel Ringgold, Captains Braxton Bragg, James Duncan, and Randolph Ridgeley.
d Barbour, p. 55. The exact location of the troops at Palo Alto has been a matter of controversy since it was fought. The most reliable authority had been Mr. A. A. Champion, of Brownsville, who through the years has collected all available accounts and collated them. At one point the U.S. government believed him incorrect because of the large amounts of metal found by engineer mine detector equipment. It turned out that the “battle position” was the impact area of an old artillery firing range, in use long after the Mexican War. Bruce Aiken, interview with author, September 1983.
e Ramón Alcaraz, The Other Side, p. 47, puts the timing of the fire before Torrejón’s attack on Taylor’s right. He also attributes the fire to an American “stratagem.”
f Versions of the episode vary. Barbour (Journals, p. 57) gives credit to McIntosh, Duncan, and Captain Morris for advocating a continuation of the fight. All agree that Taylor was encouraged by the enthusiasm of some junior officer, but the identity varies. Sedgwick, who was not there, holds that it was Duncan, passing by, who volunteered, “General, we whipped them yesterday and we can whip them again.” Others say it was Ridgely.
g May was given unjustified credit for having captured General La Vega. Newspapers in the United States carried artists’ conceptions of the dramatic moment. May was given a double brevet to lieutenant colonel. Never a popular officer with his peers, his undeserved good fortune brought ridicule upon him. He continued, however, to serve efficiently as a dragoon.
