Gone for Soldiers

  Pierce looked through his field glasses. “We better hurry, Captain. Look toward the bridge.”

  Lee raised his glasses, focused toward the sounds of the fighting, saw movement on the road behind the bridge, a flow of troops moving north.

  Pierce turned, said to an aide, “Get General Shields. He must see this.”

  A voice called out from behind, “Sir, he is coming forward now.”

  Lee still glassed the road, said, “They are pulling away … it looks like a retreat!”

  Shields led his staff, pushed his horse through the stalks of corn. He moved up beside them.

  Lee said, “General Shields, we have observed enemy troops moving north, away from their position at the bridge. If they are in retreat, they will certainly be vulnerable, in some disorder. We may have an opportunity to cut them off.”

  Shields rode past them, gazed out toward the small buildings, said, “Double quick, gentlemen. Let’s cut that road. General Pierce, you may take the left flank. My men will move up on your right.” He looked at Lee now, said, “Good work, Captain.”

  Shields spun his horse, moved quickly back toward his men. Pierce was already giving the orders to his aides, the officers pulling their men forward.

  Lee felt the rising excitement, thought, It could be over very soon. If we cut them off, there might be nothing for them to do but … surrender.

  He rode forward, moved up close behind the advance of the troops. There was no sound beyond the steady roar from the right, from around the bridge, and beyond, below the river. The troops in front of him seemed suddenly to rise up in one long line, and he saw they were climbing a small causeway, a dry ridge rising up from the marshy ground. They began to disappear, dropping down the far side, and he pushed the horse, climbed the ridge as well. He stopped. He could see the road clearly. He glassed again, observed a thick column of troops, thought, They’re not moving very quickly for a retreat.

  He watched Pierce ride up beside him. Pierce said, “We’ll be in those farm buildings in a few minutes. That will anchor our left flank on the road. General Shields’s men should be alongside us soon. I doubt anyone will be retreating past this position.”

  Lee said nothing, heard the word in his mind, retreating, still studied the road, saw several flashes of light, small puffs of gray smoke. He lowered the glasses, felt his stomach slowly turn, said quietly, “My God … down … get down.”

  Now he could see the streaks of blue light arcing toward them, the artillery shells ripping the air, and he shouted, “Get down!”

  He pulled the horse back off the ridge, and the shells began to burst just in front of the ridge, then out to the left, where Pierce’s men were still moving into position. He jumped off the horse, heard yelling, officers ordering their men to take cover, but the orders weren’t needed. The men quickly hugged the soft ground, already finding any cover they could.

  Lee moved slowly up the side of the causeway, heard a sharp scream, then men began to shout, and he saw a horse bolt past him, galloping away in a panic through the tall grass. He pulled himself to the top of the ridge, saw Pierce on the ground, his staff gathering close.

  Lee moved quickly beside Pierce, said, “Sir! Are you wounded?”

  Pierce did not answer, his eyes staring in a daze. Lee felt a hand on his shoulder, and Pierce’s aide said, “We have him, Captain. Knocked his head. He’ll be all right.”

  Pierce was carried back into the taller grass, and Lee was alone now, standing high on the dry ground and looking toward the road. Shields’s men were moving up in line beside Pierce’s brigade, the low blue mass spreading to the left, disappearing into the cluster of wooden buildings. They had begun to answer the Mexican assault, and Lee could hear the growing chatter of musket fire, smoke now flowing across the open ground near the road. He raised the glasses again, scanned the Mexican position, saw a burst of smoke from a volley of Mexican muskets. Behind him, Shields had moved close to the protection of the dry ridge, and Lee heard his voice, “Captain, get back here! Get down!”

  Lee moved back, slid down behind the small ridge, saw Shields now on the ground, the horses being led away by an aide. Shields said, “Pierce is wounded, but they don’t think it’s serious.”

  Lee nodded, said, “Yes, I was with him.”

  “What kind of strength we facing, Captain?”

  Lee stood now, brushed the dirt from his coat, thought of Shields’s compliment, said, “You may have been premature, sir. My work here was not especially good. We did not anticipate the enemy might have prepared for us. They just waited for us, held their fire until we were in close range. It was a poor job of scouting. They are on the road in strength, sir, a good deal of strength.”

  “We’re in the rear of their bridgehead, Captain. They are protecting their position. It’s simply good tactics. We had to anticipate that. Too easy to believe they were running away.”

  A staff officer moved close, said something to Shields, and he turned to Lee, said, “You’re on your own, Captain. I have to move forward, stay close to the men, keep them together. I’ve ordered some field guns moved up, Lieutenant Reno’s battery, if they can make it through all this mud. Keep your eyes open for them, Captain, send them where they can do the most good.”

  The fight was growing in front of them now, and Lee watched Shields move away, slip beyond the ridge. Alone again, he sat for a moment, thought, I should have moved forward, scouted close to the road. I thought … they were in retreat. This is the price for arrogance, for ever believing it will be easy. General Scott understands, even if some of the others … even if I do not. They are still an army. They will still make a fight.

  SHIELDS HAD KEPT HIS MEN IN LINE FOR NEARLY AN HOUR, ABSORBING a steady barrage of musket fire from the Mexican position. When Lee led Reno’s battery into line, the added power from the American cannon began to take effect on the Mexican strength, and the volleys finally began to slow.

  Lee was keeping close contact with Shields, and Shields had sent him out to the left flank, behind the safe cover of the ranch buildings. The troops in the small house were facing south and east, the men firing steadily at the Mexican position on the road. He sat close to an open window, facing north toward the city. There had been skirmishers sent up that way, guarding against anyone slipping past the flank. While the fight was steady to the right, the road above had been quiet. Word had come back to the officers, and to him: there was something moving toward them, a column on the road to the north, coming down from the city. He could see the front of the column, a scattering of bright colors, flags held high. The skirmishers did not give him any detail, but they did not have to. He knew what it was, could see clearly a heavy column of Mexican cavalry. His eyes began to water, and he lowered the glasses, blinked through the weariness, tried to focus. We are too close to the city, he thought. It is easy for them to get support. If the lancers keep coming, keep to the road, they will hit us right here, right on the flank.

  He focused on the sounds nearest to him, looked at the men sharing the small wooden hut with him, firing muskets through the windows on the far side. There was an officer watching him, a short major with a thick black beard. The man had followed Lee’s gaze, had seen the new threat for himself, said, “Captain, keep me informed. We have to pull back from here if they advance much closer.”

  Lee nodded, said, “Certainly, sir.”

  He wiped at his eyes, raised the glasses again, saw the column motionless, the flags still, thought, All right, what happens now? They know we’re here, certainly. Maybe they won’t get too close … just observe. Maybe there’s only a few of them, hard to tell from this angle. But even if there’s not much strength, for cavalry to just … sit there. That would be a mistake.

  He had two aides with him, two nervous couriers from Shields’s staff. They had moved hay bales into the center of the hut and settled down behind their blessed protection, teased by the men with the muskets. Lee looked around now, saw only the tops of two hats, said no
thing, thought, The army’s finest. They’re in no hurry to leave here. That may have to change.

  He stared through the field glasses again, saw a change in the column. He could see many flags, thought, A dozen, more. Do they mean anything? Is that some sign of strength, the flags of individual units, or just … ceremony? He could see all the colors of the decorations now, red and green and gold, the bright ribbons streaming from the horses, blending with the extravagant uniforms of the officers. The army had become accustomed to the Mexican lancers as a nuisance, a presence generally out of the way, off to one side, observers more than any kind of threat. Rarely did Santa Anna’s horsemen bring an assault, rarely had there been any kind of full-scale attack.

  It had been several minutes now, and the horsemen had still not changed their position. He heard sharp sounds behind the farm buildings, a new round of volleys from Reno’s cannon. They’ve changed positions, he thought, kept in motion. His mind turned to Magruder and his young lieutenant, Jackson, and some of the others. That is our advantage. If we have no other superiority, we have better artillery. Those lancers know that too, learned that pretty quickly. Don’t charge into our guns. That’s why they’re just sitting there. He lowered the glasses and looked back toward the hiding places of the aides, then out the far window, past more wooden huts, where the smoke spiraled in the air from the steady fire of muskets. Their fire was being answered by the sharp whistle and dull smack of musket balls against the wooden walls. We cannot just stay here, he thought. If it gets dark, we will have to withdraw, or surely they will try to get behind us, cut us off. We cannot afford to lose two brigades.

  He looked south, toward the road in front of the men, could see very little through the solid cloud of smoke. Far in the distance the sounds of the fight at the bridge were still rolling toward him, and he thought, What is happening back there? It has been a long time … hours, and the sounds have not changed. This time the enemy did not run. But this time we came right at them, hit their defenses the way they expected us to. If we could somehow push these people off the road and come at the bridge from the rear …

  He raised the glasses again, looked toward the Mexican troops on the road, saw the flash of cannon through the haze of smoke. There may be too many … too strong. He swung around, glassed the cavalry again, saw motion now, something new. He felt his heart jump. He raised himself up slightly, focusing the glasses again. The horsemen were spreading out, moving off the road, out to the left. He looked around, said, “Major!”

  The man was beside him quickly, and Lee said, “They’re moving off the road. They may be trying to flank us, get behind us.”

  The man spat something on the hard ground, said, “We better get word to General Shields pretty quick.”

  Lee looked toward the hay bales. “Sergeant Johnson!”

  A hat rose slowly from behind the hay, and then the eyes appeared.

  Lee had no patience for the man’s caution, said, “On your feet, Sergeant. The danger is out there.” Lee motioned toward the distant cavalry, said, “They are moving to turn our flank. If they advance, we will have a serious problem. Go to General Shields. Tell him our position must be watched. We could be in some danger. He may wish to place part of a battery to cover our position.”

  The man stood, seemed to find strength, a new seriousness. He focused on Lee’s words, said, “Yes, sir, I understand. I’ll go right away.”

  Lee glassed out again, studied the movement of the horsemen, the line extending farther into the field above them. We have time, he thought, at least there is some warning. They don’t seem to appreciate the power of speed, of surprise. It’s all about show, as though the threat itself should be enough. He studied the flags again, the flow of horses still extending, stretching far back on the road. He tried to count, but the distance was too great, and he thought, It has to be over a thousand men … more.

  He put the glasses down, said to the major, “I should speak to General Shields myself. This is too important.”

  The major patted him on the shoulder, said, “Godspeed, Captain. It’s a dangerous trip. Should probably take your friend there.”

  He motioned toward the hay bales, and Lee looked for the second aide, saw no sign, felt a stab of irritation, said aloud, “Mr. Spence, it’s time to go. If you’re still here, I suggest you follow me.”

  The man suddenly appeared, a skinny corporal, strands of hay protruding from his uniform. He said, “Right here, sir. At your service.”

  “Our service now is to General Shields. You know how to locate him, I assume?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll find him, sir.”

  “Let’s do that.”

  Lee followed the man outside, and he could see the line of troops below the buildings, settled hard along the ground, spreading out at an angle from the road. The line was much thinner than it had been, and Lee could see scattered mounds of blue, the dead and wounded spread behind the men who were still firing forward.

  He looked at the young corporal, said, “You ready?”

  The young man was looking past him. “Uh, sir. Look, it’s Red … it’s Sergeant Johnson, sir.”

  Lee turned, saw the man running low to the ground. Then the sergeant was before them. He saluted, leaned forward, breathing heavily, his hands on his knees, said, “Captain, orders from General Shields. I reported the cavalry as you said, and he said, sir … uh, he said it probably ain’t nothing to worry about. He told me to tell you, sir, we been watching Mexican cavalry all over the place, and they don’t seem to ever do anything but just sit there. But the general did say it’s a chance we can’t take. He said we ought not stay here.”

  Lee glanced up at the road. “Yes, I assumed that. Did the general advise me how soon the withdrawal would begin?”

  Johnson blinked, said, “Uh, no, sir. We aren’t withdrawing. We’re … charging.”

  Lee heard bugles now, saw officers scrambling along the lines of men, and quickly the blue mass rose up from their cover.

  Johnson said, “Captain, if you don’t need us now, we should get back to General Shields. I expect he’ll be needing us.”

  Lee was confused, thought, A charge? Where? He moved to the far window again, glassed out, saw the cavalry still in motion. He stared for a long moment. But, now … they’re moving the other way, back to the road.

  He watched for a moment longer, shook his head, said aloud, “General Shields is right. They’re not coming. They’re moving off.” He lowered the glasses, was still confused. Why send them out here at all? Are we supposed to be … afraid?

  He turned, saw the couriers moving outside, said, “I’m coming, gentlemen.”

  Lee followed the two men as they moved quickly out into the open field. He hopped over a short fence into tall grass, saw the two men were staying low, moving quickly away from him. Lee felt his chest pounding. He slowed, then stopped, thought, Yes, they’ve done this work before. All right, Captain, easy. You’re not twenty.

  He could hear the new sounds now, the musket fire replaced by the sound of the men, a long low cheer all along the line. He felt a chill, his skin tingling with the sound, his heart still pounding, and he watched the lines surge forward, the two brigades pouring their strength together in one sudden burst of power. He glanced toward the two couriers, saw only the tall grass. He looked again at the blue mass, moving in a heavy line across the open ground, said aloud, “You two go on. I think I’ll go … with them.

  THE CHARGE HAD REACHED THE ROADWAY, AND HE HAD MOVED up close behind the last line of Shields’s men, climbed with them up into the road itself. The fight was sharp and quick, pushed hard by the men who had endured the enemy fire protected only by the muddy grass of the open ground. The Mexicans were moving away, a swarm of gray flowing out across the swampy fields above the road. He stood up high now on the Mexican fortifications, empty except for the debris of their retreat, muskets, broken guns, hats. It was the same debris Lee had seen before, mixed with the bodies of the men who could not run, som
e killed by musket fire, some by the bayonets of Shields’s charging men.

  The sounds of the fight were fading, and he could see to the south, toward the bridgehead at Churubusco, realized now the sounds were slowing there as well. He moved behind the works, past groups of men picking through the Mexican guns, appraising, some already gathering muskets that would be burned. Officers were shouting orders, assembling the men into line again, the swords pointing out toward the Mexican retreat. Lee stared out toward the escape of the Mexicans, heard scattered musket fire, men trying to find a target, a final shot at the army they had swept away. The orders still came, but different now, and he heard one man shout, “Cease fire. By order of General Shields! Cease fire!”

  He saw Shields, on his horse again, moving along the road, staring toward the Mexican retreat. Shields waved his hat, yelled, “Run! Go back to Santa Anna! We have whipped you again!”

  Around Shields, his men—their muskets pointing in the air, some still holding the bayonet—whooped and shouted their joyous salutes. Lee watched Shields, saw the pure joy, the man reining the horse back hard, waving his hat high in the air, absorbing the calls from his troops, the grand moment. Lee tried to shout with the men, but his energy had faded, the exhaustion crawling over him again. He backed away, stood in the road, stared down toward the bridgehead.

  Shields saw him, moved closer, said, “Captain, you lose your horse?” Shields was still laughing, and Lee was about to speak, then saw a wave of motion coming from the bridgehead.

  He pointed, said, “Sir …”

  Shields turned, began to move toward the bridgehead, and now Shields began to yell, to wave his hat again. Lee climbed up again on the Mexican works, watched Shields, moving down, leading another charge, his men trying to follow, moving south on the wide road.

  Lee pulled out the field glasses, looked past Shields to another flood of gray, moving out to the left, away from the bridgehead. The musket fire was scattered there as well, brief, intermittent pops, the flow of the Mexican retreat moving quickly away. He focused on the road again, saw a wave of motion, a thick blue mass, coming forward, moving up past the bridgehead. He lowered the glasses, jumped down, tried to run, to follow Shields’s horse. He saw Shields stopping, heard more cheers, the blue mass rolling up around him, men embracing, shouting hoarsely, bayonets punching the air.