Gone for Soldiers

  It was a forum for many of the lower ranking engineers to make a favorable impression on the senior commanders. Each man had his own recommendation, some plan of action, and nearly all proposed that the first grand assault should of course proceed in the direction of their own observation. Some of the reports drew a quick response from Scott, a curt thank-you, and Lee had felt a growing impatience, a sense of annoyance, thought, This is not the time for young men to strut their vanity.

  Lee was listening now to James Mason, an engineer who was Lee’s senior. Mason had given Scott his own map, spoke in a low, serious tone.

  “Sir, I can confirm many of the reports you have already heard. The enemy is … there. Their position includes a long fortification above the Churubusco River. It is a position of great strength, but can be carried, I believe, by a strong and coordinated assault.”

  The men were silent while Scott studied the map, and Lee considered the simplicity of the plan that Mason was laying out. Now he began to feel uneasy, looked at Mason’s cool confidence with growing astonishment, thought, He cannot be serious. He looked over at Twiggs, saw him looking at a copy of Mason’s map, his face registering quiet approval. No, this is not Captain Mason’s plan, he thought. It comes from General Twiggs. Why do they always want to employ the same strategy, a straight-ahead, all-out bayonets-to-the-front assault? How can he believe it is the best way? Twiggs glanced at him, looked right past him, and Lee saw the general’s grim determination. God forgive me, but … God help us if he is ever in command.

  Mason had completed his report, and Scott stared down at the table, a silent pause, looked up slowly at Twiggs, said, “You propose to move straight up the road through San Antonio, assault the enemy at his strongest point?” Scott sat back in the chair, and Lee saw his pained look, expressing the familiar frustration. Scott said to Mason, “Surely, Captain, you observed that while you were scouting that position you were directly under the guns of the enemy. If I am not mistaken, that route would be swept by a great deal of artillery the entire way. There is no place to hide, no place to form troops that cannot be shelled. We have seen this before, gentlemen, is that not clear? Once again, Santa Anna is expecting us to accommodate him.”

  Scott leaned forward, glared angrily at Mason, said, “Captain, one day soon I hope to finally make the generalissimo’s acquaintance. I’m sure he will be greatly entertained when I tell him how so many of my officers were so anxious to play this game by his rules.”

  Twiggs sat back in the chair, crossed his arms, stared past Lee, holding silently to his response. Scott ignored him, looked at Mason’s map again, studied it for another moment. “This road that runs out of San Antonio, to the northwest. We know where it ends up?”

  Mason took a deep breath, glanced at Twiggs, said, “Yes, sir. It intersects another road that comes up west of the big lava field.”

  Scott glanced at Lee, and Lee felt his heart jump, thought of the road he had seen. Yes, Captain, you were correct.

  Scott said, “If we can advance to that point, reach the intersection from the southwest, we can assault the strength of Churubusco from the flank. Might that be a damned sight better idea than hitting them head-on?”

  Mason looked at the map, nodded slowly, said, “Yes, sir.”

  Scott looked at Lee now, and Lee felt the old man’s impatient anger, the hard eyes pushing him back in the chair. “I believe it’s time for Captain Lee’s report.”

  Mason moved away, sat quietly behind Twiggs. Lee stood slowly, unrolled his map, laid it on Scott’s desk, and waited while Scott examined it. He felt the eyes on him from behind, was suddenly very nervous. He had watched all the faces, heard it in all the voices, the seriousness, the grim reality, and it settled into him now as though it were a hard fist in his chest. He had made a mental note as each man spoke, thought it was just chance that his report would be heard near the end. But when Mason went up before him, he had felt a sudden uncomfortable awareness. It was not chance at all. Scott had wanted him to be the last one. All through the reports, Scott had glanced at him, as though holding him in one spot, a silent command Lee did not understand. He had seen it from the others as well, Twiggs, Worth, and the other engineers, even from Joe Johnston. There was weight to what he would say, and it was not just Scott who felt that way.

  He tried not to listen to the talk in the camps, the brief comments about the heroic Captain Lee. He had accepted that his name, even his face, was recognized now all through the army, but he tried to explain it away. Of course, you are on the general staff. And it is a small army. But more recently the comments, the quiet compliments, came even from the men Lee had believed had a deep dislike for him, Twiggs certainly, Worth, even Pillow. The engineers below him, Beauregard, Meade, George McClellan, their talk, their descriptions of him, sometimes carried that uncomfortable edge of jealousy, and even Johnston would tease him relentlessly about his special relationship with General Scott.

  He continued to watch Scott studying the map, waited for the questions, held his fists clenched tightly at his side. I have heard none of this from him, none of the compliments, little mention in his reports, certainly nothing official. Perhaps that is how it should be.

  He had gone through this before. No, you should not do this, you should not be concerned with what the others think or say. The orders come from General Scott, the duty comes from God. God does not speak behind your back, and General Scott does not issue praise as some would expect, like passing out candy to children. Every man here knows in his own heart if he is doing his job. The rest of it is just gossip, speculation. And no, none of the talk matters. You do what General Scott expects you to do. There is nothing heroic or even special about performing your duty. I am fortunate to have the opportunity. I wish I could understand why there is such a … commotion.

  Scott now pointed to a circle Lee had drawn in the Pedregal, said, “What’s this?”

  “Sir, it’s a fairly distinctive hill. From this spot … we observed the enemy’s position. It is an excellent vantage point, sir, and I believe it could be the best rendezvous point for us to coordinate and deploy the advance.”

  Scott nodded. “If you made it through that damned lava field that far, Captain, then with all due respect to General Worth, you believe the lava field is not … impassable?”

  Lee glanced at Worth, who closed his eyes as though he was in pain, and Lee said, “General Worth may not have had the best information, sir. However … yes, sir, we did observe the far side.”

  Scott did not look at Worth, sat back in the chair, and Lee saw a smile now, and Scott said, “I had no doubt. All right, Captain, sounds like you had quite a day. Why don’t you give us the rest of the story.”

  AUGUST NINETEENTH

  They pushed out into the Pedregal like a thick blue snake, pushing aside the smaller rocks, widening the old trail. The day had begun early, before the sun could heat the gray dust, and the work went quickly at first, the men using shovels and picks and their bare hands. Where the trail faded into jagged rock, they cut and hauled, and where there were no obstacles, they quickly created a wide flat path that even the field guns could follow. Lee led the way, and they kept him moving, pressing him from behind, working quickly and efficiently. There were nearly five hundred men, Pillow’s troops, all following Lee’s direction, and even Pillow himself understood Lee’s responsibility and would not interfere, riding far to the rear while his men cut their way forward.

  Lee climbed a low flat rock, looked back at the men working through the ragged lava field, a great mass of blue spread behind them, the rest of Pillow’s division, joined by Twiggs’s men as well. This was not like Cerro Gordo, when his workers had plenty of time to complete their task, while the rest of the army simply sat in their camps and waited. This time the workers were followed closely by the fighting men, and once Pillow’s muskets reached Lee’s big hill, Twiggs would be close behind, adding to their strength with his own troops.

  Lee had discovered that th
e hill had a name, had spoken of it to one of the farmers who was still selling grain to the army. The man had looked at Lee with surprise, his eyes grown wide. He bowed respectfully, said the hill was called Zacatepec, and though the farmer did not know the origin of the name, he made it clear to Lee that the fat round hill was believed to be the eye of the Devil himself. Lee glassed that way now, could barely see the top of the hill, rising above the vast shimmering gray, and above everything the big black birds again, slowly circling, the only movement in the perfect blue of the sky.

  THE SUN WAS HIGH OVERHEAD WHILE THE MEN MOVED QUICKLY to their tools, back to work after a brief rest and a brief meal from the cooked food they had stuffed into their packs. Lee was still out front, listening to the sounds again, the voices of the sergeants, the dull ringing of metal against soft rock, the pickaxes cutting into the taller rocks, widening the narrow gaps, lengthening the usable trail. They began to move closer to him, their progress steady again, and he did not have to look at them to recognize that the sounds he heard were of men working with their backs. He watched the skirmishers out in front, some still sitting quietly, waiting for the workers to allow them to press forward as well. They began to look expectantly toward Lee, waiting for his command, Up, move out. He raised the glasses, scanned out beyond the thin line of riflemen, looked across the dull gray expanse of rock and compacted dust. He focused far ahead, getting his first glimpse of color beyond the ragged gray. He focused closer in, on the last stretch of rough ground they still had to cross. He could still see segments of the old trail, leading out past the big hill. They were close now, and the hill was a clear landmark for the men with the tools. Far back along the fresh pathway, the column of blue followed, the men knowing that as the sun began to reach the far hills, they would be closer still to an enemy most of them had not yet seen.

  Lee moved quickly, the big hill looming in front of him. A sweating officer, the man in command of the skirmish line, his face covered with the gray dust of the trail, approached him.

  Lee pointed, said quietly, “Up there, Lieutenant. Have your men spread out just beyond the hill, with a squad accompanying me to the top. I must see if the enemy has changed his position.”

  The man saluted without speaking and moved away. Lee looked to the ragged path he had used before, and, taking a deep breath, began to climb the hill.

  Across its face the soldiers moved with him, some watching him, others with their eyes focused on the crest. He climbed quickly, stepped over smaller rocks, scrambling up on large ones, taking a moment to steady himself. Even the large rocks were uneven, rocked and tilted with the weight of a man’s step, and the climb had to be slow, careful. He tried to avoid the rocks altogether, leery of taking a fall, the twisted ankle that would result. Around him the riflemen bounded past, climbed ahead of him, displaying their youthful energy, their recklessness. He stopped nearly halfway up the hill, his chest pounding, his breath coming in short hard gasps. The soldiers began to stop with him, and he saw their smiles, and he nodded, held up his hand, as if to say, Yes, fine, you’re young. But we will wait just one moment. He felt for the blessed canteen, took a drink of warm water, swirled the canteen in his hand, measuring. Half empty. Pay attention to that. No water out here, that’s for sure. He looked up the hill again, his breathing still labored, thought, I don’t remember this being so much … work. He tried not to look at the young faces watching him, not think of their young legs as they patiently waited for him to find the strength. Nothing to be ashamed of. You are after all … older. No, wrong word. You’re not an old man. This army has its share of old men. You’re simply a … senior officer. Well, senior, let’s move up this hill.

  He nodded to the men nearest him, said, “Let’s go.”

  He began to climb again, reached out, pulled himself up between two large rocks, saw only smaller rocks, an easier climb now leading up to the crest. Suddenly, there was a burst of sound, an uneven chatter of musket fire. He dropped down, but the shots came from beyond the far side of the hill, from the enemy. The men around him were scrambling up the hill, some already at the crest, their muskets held tightly, waiting for some command, the sharp order from their lieutenant.

  Lee looked behind the hill, saw the workers disappearing from the trail, spreading out into the rocks, looking for cover. Down below, the skirmishers were settling behind their own cover, muskets pointing out, looking for a target. The lieutenant was moving forward as the sound of scattered, uneven firing from the men in blue echoed off the rocks.

  Lee felt a rush of frustration, thought, I have to see. We must know what is happening. He climbed quickly, pulled himself up to the crest of the hill, crawled up close beside a man with a musket. “Do you see anything?”

  The man shook his head. “Just a little smoke, sir. Down there, maybe two hundred yards.”

  Lee lifted himself up, peered over the top of the rock. The soldier said, “Uh, sir. Your hat. I’d take off your hat. It’s a good target, sir.”

  Lee reached up, touched the tall black felt and pulled it from his head. He nodded, said nothing, thought, Of course, a man who has done this before. He raised his glasses, scanned the rocks close to the base of the hill then out, farther away. There were more sounds now, the musket fire coming in scattered bursts, a few shots from alongside the hill, from the skirmishers. He could see movement among the rocks, thought, Two hundred yards … no, more, farther. He heard a dull smack of lead on a rock beside him, dropped down again, felt his heart pounding cold in his chest, thought, I have to know how many … if they have moved out here into the lava. If they are in force … we are in serious trouble.

  He looked back behind the hill, could see a heavy flow of blue moving forward, a column of Pillow’s troops marching in quick step past the workmen who still crouched low in the rocks. He also saw officers, men with swords pointing forward, heard their quick shouts as the flow of blue spread through the rocks on both sides of the hill. His chest was still pounding, and he watched the troops filling the spaces, their muskets pointing up and over the rocks. More men were climbing the hill, and he turned and saw another officer, his higher rank made obvious by the gold eagles on his shoulder straps, pulling himself up through the rocks. He moved with the quick precise moves of an athlete. Lee was glad there was someone to take command, and he put his hat back on and crawled back from the crest of the hill. When he tried to stand, his stiff knees protested with a sharp creaking pain.

  The officer stopped and regarded Lee for a moment before looking past him to the crest of the hill. The man was older, but his face did not fit the rest of his appearance. He was tall, muscular, wide-shouldered, and Lee could see his breathing was not labored, apparently unaffected by the climb. Lee recognized him now, Bennett Riley, the man who had helped him at Cerro Gordo. Riley was another of the old veterans, the experience of 1812, a commander even the troops respected, something rare in Scott’s army.

  Lee saluted, said, “Colonel Riley.”

  Riley looked at him, shook his head, laughed briefly. “Captain Lee. You’re always in the middle of the excitement. What have we run into?”

  “It’s not heavy fire, sir. I could see enemy troops, but hard to tell the strength. It’s similar to what we found out here before, a picket line most likely.”

  Riley peered up over a rock, stared for a moment, and Lee moved up beside him, removed his hat again. He glanced at Riley, the man raising field glasses, and Lee saw Riley’s hat still in place. He felt foolish now, thought, Combat officers don’t think about hats.

  Riley said, “The shooting has stopped.” He looked behind him, and Lee saw more officers moving up the hill toward them.

  Riley shouted, “Cease fire. Hold the brigade where they are. Get word to General Pillow that he should move up here, if he can bring himself to climb this hill. Captain Lee has found us a good vantage point.”

  Lee felt a sudden rush of pride, thought, Yes, a good vantage point. I had thought so myself. He felt odd receiving Riley’s
compliment, felt the weight of that, thought, He’s one of the good ones. General Scott knows it, the men know it. How different that is when a real soldier sees the ground, understands. Instinct, I suppose, experience certainly. He shook his head, tried to push the thought away. No time for this, for vanity. You’re not a schoolboy. Learn from him. Bennett Riley is doing his job. Do yours.

  He looked again over the crest, could see the Mexican troops backing away. He raised his glasses, looked now to the far side of the lava field, saw the ravine, and beyond, the low mounds of earth, the artillery batteries still in place. He thought, Thank God. It was just as before, only light opposition, only a skirmish line.

  He turned to Riley. “Colonel, I believe we can proceed with the work on the trail. It seems our show of force has scared the opposition away.”

  The air above him suddenly screamed, a high sharp shriek, a hard breath of wind that knocked him flat against the rocks. Then there was a blast, down behind the hill, shattering the gray rock. There were more sounds, the air coming alive with streaks of gold and blue, more great blasts of fire and black smoke in the rocks all around the hill. He pulled himself up, saw Riley still glassing out at the crest, and Riley said, “Don’t think we scared anybody, Captain.”

  He could hear the shouts and screams of the men in the rocks, the cries of the wounded echoing. More of the shells impacted all through the lava. He moved up beside Riley, focused on the enemy again, but there was nothing to see; the ground beyond the ravine was hidden now in a gray cloud. The horrible sounds stopped, and he heard a roll of low thunder, the first sounds of the Mexican cannon fire rolling toward the hill. He could see the flashes of fire through the drifting smoke, and the streaks of color came again, some passing overhead, some dropping below their position or off to the side. The rocks began to shatter, more men screaming, and he backed away, sat slowly down behind the rocks, heard Riley shouting orders: “Find Captain Magruder! We need his guns! Where the hell is General Pillow?”