American Blood (15 page)

Emory chuckled at that. "The Hotspur of Kentucky opposed annexation, and it kept him out of the White House in '44. A majority of the people are on Polk's side in this."

"You may not share with your readers what I am about to say next, Mr. Sterling," said Kearny.

"You may always rely on my discretion, General."

"I know I can. Events in California require us to settle affairs in Santa Fe as quickly as possible, for my orders are to press on to the westward and reach the Pacific coast as rapidly as events allow."

"I may be a Whig," said Sterling, "but I cannot deny that I have always wanted to see California."

"You will get your chance," replied Kearny. "I will leave a contingent behind in Santa Fe in order to secure the authority of Charles Bent, who will replace Manuel Armijo as governor."

"Charley Bent is good choice," said Falconer. "I think Del will confirm that he is greatly respected in Santa Fe. But, General, in light of this information, I must tell you I think I will go no farther
than New Mexico with you. Ten years ago I visited California, and saw all I care to see of the place—including the inside of a jail cell."

Kearny nodded. "As you wish. One more thing, gentlemen. As you may all know, the president has been in contact with Santa Anna, who is living in exile in Havana. Santa Anna has promised that if he is returned to power in Mexico, he will guarantee a friendly arrangement with the United States. The Paredes government is on the verge of collapse, and I predict that Santa Anna will have little difficulty taking over. I believe that even as we speak he is on his way to his homeland."

"This is a grave error in judgment on the president's part," said Delgado. "Santa Anna is not to be trusted. The people will rally to him only if he promises to drive the Americans out of Mexico."

"You're saying he will break his promise as soon as he is back in power?"

"I'd be willing to bet on it, General."

"If he does, then we will have to take all of Mexico and be done with it," said Emory. "We won't have much trouble defeating the Mexican army. I mean, my God, Sam Houston and a handful of untrained Texas farmers did it at San Jacinto, and it only took them eighteen minutes."

Surgeon Griffin spoke up. "Did you know that a Cincinnati phrenologist examined the skulls of several Mexican soldiers who fell at the Battle of Palo Alto? He claims that the thickness and measurements of the skull reveal that the Mexican is an ignorant, brutish individual. Personally, I do not hold much with phrenology, but there you are."

"I've heard the wolves who scavenged the battlefield there at Palo Alto preferred the bodies of
the Americans to those of the Mexicans," remarked Emory.

"A dubious distinction," said Sterling. "Americans make better carrion."

With a glance at Delgado, Kearny said, "I would not underestimate the Mexican soldier, Lieutenant, if I were you."

"The fact remains," said Emory, "that Mexico is ours for the taking. The people will support us if we make it clear to them that we are their republican brethren, come to fight tyranny, to bestow the blessings of democracy, to free them from oppressive tariff duties and Church levees on the poor."

"And don't forget also to spread the institution of slavery," said Sterling, sardonic.

"This discord over slavery disturbs me deeply," said Emory. "I believe the acquisition of Mexico is necessary to save the Union, sir. The use of slaves is required for the production of money crops such as cotton, which eventually destroy the soil. The system, therefore, only survives by constant relocation, out of the areas where the soil is rendered lifeless. I am from Maryland, and I can vouch that slavery has been in retreat from the border and seaboard states to the south and southwest. It has flowed quite naturally into Texas and Louisiana. Before too very long, slavery will be concentrated in Texas. But, inevitably, the soil there will also be exhausted. The slaveholder will look to Mexico. And yet the soil in Mexico is not suited to his money crops. He will face ruin if he does not then emancipate his slaves.

"The freed slaves will turn southward into Mexico and Latin America," continued Emory, "where prejudice does not exist, and where they have the
hope of social equality, a prospect they will never enjoy in this country. So you see, gentlemen, that the annexation of Texas and Mexico will have an effect opposite to that predicted by the abolitionists and other Whig doomsayers. Ultimately, it will cause slavery to disappear from the United States, and with it will go the issue which has proven so divisive."

"I see you are well acquainted with Robert Walker's thesis," said Sterling dryly.

Delgado had heard of Walker, who was currently Polk's Secretary of the Treasury—a Northerner by birth, a Mississippian by adoption, a planter and expansionist who believed slavery to be a transient evil, and who had written a thesis designed to recruit Northern support for Texas annexation, the gist of which Emory had just espoused. The Walker Letter, as it was called, had achieved a circulation of millions.

"Well," said Kearny, "unlike Generals Taylor and Scott, I have no interest in politics. I am a soldier, and as such I advise you gentlemen to be early to bed tonight. Tomorrow will be here sooner than you think."

With that they broke up. Outside, Delgado pulled Hugh Falconer aside. "General Kearny has only a passing interest in what happens in Santa Fe or Taos," he told the frontiersman. "His eyes are fixed on California. When Armijo finds this out, he will be wise enough to wait until Kearny and most of the soldiers are gone before he stirs up trouble. He can no more be trusted than Santa Anna. Both men will smile and shake your hand and earnestly profess eternal friendship—before they stab you in the back."

Falconer nodded. "I'm with you, Del. Which is
why I told the general I was planning to stay behind when he marched on to California. Charley Bent once saved my life, long ago. I think I may get the chance to return the favor." Packing a clay pipe with honeydew tobacco, he shot Delgado a curious glance. "You've heard a lot of poor-talking about the Mexican people. Are you insulted?"

Delgado smiled. "I can tolerate it. I've heard the same kind of talk at home—about Americans. Some of them believe you are barbarians who eat little children for breakfast. As they get better acquainted, each side will discover they have more in common than they have differences."

"I only hope," said Falconer, "that the acquaintance is not made over the barrel of a gun."

Chapter Six

"We'll start with this traitor!"

1

I
t was the bright, warm morning of the last day in June when Delgado left Fort Leavenworth on the final leg of his long journey home. It was a journey that had begun halfway around the world, that had taken him from London to New York to New Orleans to St. Louis and finally to the eastern terminus of the fabled Santa Fe Trail, a journey that had delivered him from the cloistered halls of Oxford University, steeped in tradition, to the raw frontier among the ranks of stern-faced dragoons marching off to war for the glory and aggrandizement of the young republic called the United States of America. Along the way he found the woman of his dreams. He wondered what he would find at the conclusion of the journey.

Brigadier General Stephen Watts Kearny, astride a sturdy bay horse, waved good-bye to his wife and children and led the way; tall, straight, and lean, he looked to Delgado the perfect soldier. Delgado was glad that the fate of Taos and Santa Fe rested in this man's hands, for he believed that Kearny was an honest, capable, and fair-minded man. Best of all, like most professional soldiers, Kearny was deeply committed to peace. Perhaps more so that the average citizen.

With Kearny rode his staff officers, Emory and
the topographical engineers, a battery of light artillery—mountain howitzers with their brass neatly polished—and the final detachment of the First Dragoons. The latter wore broad-brimmed black hats, blue flannel shirts and trousers, and every one was armed with carbine, two pistols, and a Bowie knife. Delgado and Sterling rode with Kearny's staff. Hugh Falconer had departed at first light to go ahead with a handful of his Delaware and Shawnee scouts.

The first part of their journey was pleasant enough. Crossing the Kansas River, they camped on the west bank among friendly Shawnees. This tribe, which under the leadership of men of genius like Tecumseh and Blue Jacket had wrought havoc for more than a quarter of a century among settlers in Kentucky and the Old Northwest, was now one of prosperous farmers, whose corn fields were as fine as any Delgado had ever seen. The Shawnees supplied the troops with vegetables, milk, butter, and eggs. It would be the last time Kearny's Army of the West enjoyed such luxuries until they reached their destination.

The country here was fertile, with fine rolling prairie and abundant stands of timber. But in the days to come the timber, water and graze grew ever more sparse. Midday temperatures soared to a hundred degrees Fahrenheit and beyond. Men and livestock suffered immensely. In the evenings swarms of mosquitoes plagued them. The water, when it was available, was often rancid or alkaline, and the sick rolls increased at an alarming rate.

One thing the expedition never lacked was fresh meat. Vast herds of buffalo were a frequent occurrence, and often the men could supplement their
standard ration of bacon, biscuits, and coffee with a succulent slab of hump meat. When buffalo weren't readily available, there was always the herd of cattle that had been brought along. On the treeless plains the soldiers used buffalo chips in lieu of firewood. Every day men would venture out and skewer the dung patties on their ramrods until they had enough to build their fires.

They saw numerous Indians of various tribes, for this was the season of the buffalo hunt. Hugh Falconer proved his worth a hundred times over, because the Indians invariably knew him or knew about him, and as a consequence there was never any trouble, not so much as a horse turned up missing. Kearny thought this was remarkable, since the Plains Indians had made an art form of horse stealing.

Kearny kept the column moving at a brisk pace. It was not uncommon for the Army of the West to make twenty-five miles in a day. The general seemed to be everywhere, in the saddle from before dawn until after dark, one day with the vanguard, the next day at the rear of the column. Tireless, he kept an eye on every detail. The sore-footed infantry often cursed Kearny for pushing them so hard, and President Polk for issuing a call to glory that had lured them into the rash folly of enlisting. But though they moaned and groaned, the men had complete confidence in their leader.

One day Delgado rode out with Falconer and his scouts. In buffalo country it was Falconer's habit to leave camp about midnight, reaching the site of the vanguard's next camp by first light, so that by the time the weary soldiers dragged in, they would, if all went well, find plenty of fresh-killed game waiting on them. On that day Fal
coner took Delgado to the top of a rock outcropping to gaze out upon the largest herd of buffalo Delgado had ever seen. The beasts resembled a shaggy brown carpet reaching into infinity. The dust that rose from beneath their hooves turned the sky dun colored. Falconer estimated the herd to number three or four hundred thousand head. "Enough meat for all the armies in the world," said Delgado, awestruck. Falconer nodded. But Kearny had given strict orders against the wholesale slaughter of the buffalo. It had proven difficult to restrain the volunteers in this respect. They were inclined to shoot at anything that moved, just for sport. Falconer and his Indian scouts, though, were a highly efficient team of hunters. Delgado watched them kill the requisite number of shaggies, then swiftly butcher them out. The hides, bones, sinews, and sometimes choice cuts of meat were always given as gifts to the ubiquitous Plains Indians, who always seemed to be hovering nearby; Delgado became accustomed to seeing twenty or thirty of them a day.

Despite the plentiful game, and the peace so meticulously kept with the Indians, the Army of the West suffered casualties. A few men perished by drowning when sudden thunderstorms transformed dry gulches into raging cataracts. Several more were lost to sudden illnesses. A couple were snakebit. One was trampled to death by his own horse. Burial with full honors always followed. Wrapped in a blanket, the deceased was promptly interred. After a brief passage from the Bible was read by an officer, three volleys were fired into the air by an honor guard. Then horses were ridden over the grave until it was indistinguishable from the rest of the prairie—this to thwart scav
enging wolves, or Indians who would think nothing of desecrating the grave in search of valuables. Indian dead were buried with all their weapons and finery, and they assumed the white man did the same.

Two weeks out of Fort Leavenworth they saw the white mountains which, according to Falconer, the Indians called Wah-to-yah, the "Breasts of the World." They rose from the plain in sharp contrast against a line of ominous black thunderheads. These were the first real mountains some of the Missouri volunteers had ever seen, and they raised a shout of elation at the sight. The twin peaks were visible proof that they had accomplished a truly remarkable feat—in three weeks' time they had marched nearly five hundred miles!

A few days later, Falconer came riding in to find General Kearny. With him was another legendary mountain man—Tom Fitzpatrick. The buckskinner the Indians called Broken Hand had come from nearby Bent's Fort with news of events in Santa Fe. While the common people of New Mexico were inclined to accept the imminent American occupation without resistance, Manuel Armijo had summoned a council of the province's leading men and convinced them that they would face ruination or worse if they did not try to turn back the Americans. There was, reported Fitzpatrick, no reliable word regarding Urrea and the army of three thousand battle-hardened Mexican Regulars rumored to be on the march from the South.

The following morning Falconer rode into Bent's Fort, only a few miles in advance of the Army of the West.