Towards the close of the last century there was a movement of settlers
to the frontiers of Kentucky. The new comers to the then unsettled
district were from various parts of the American continent, and each of
the pioneers who thus cast his lot upon the extreme verge of
civilisation made his account for holding his homestead by aid of his
rifle, against the attacks of the denizens of the neighbouring forests.
Sometimes the enemy was only in shape of a wolf or a bear—oftentimes in
that of an Indian. In either case the farmer had to maintain his ground
by the strong hand, in those days the only law that held sway in the
backwoods. In such a state of affairs it is clear that none but bold
spirits would venture to found a home on the frontier; yet such were not
wanting; and amongst them was a farmer, who at an earlier period of his
life had left the plough to take up arms in defence of American
independence. In that rough and ready service he had gained the often
quickly-acquired rank of Colonel; but the war ceasing, he, like others
among his patriotic countrymen, quietly returned to his more peaceful
occupation as a farmer; choosing a location where land was plenty and
cheap to those who had the courage to hold it where Indians and other
dangerous neighbours were abundant. The sons of such a man, nurtured in
such a spot, might well be expected to inherit the enterprise, courage,
and hardihood which distinguished their parent. Handling a rifle as soon
as they were strong enough to lift one; accustomed to hunting excursions
and “camping out;” working now at the plough, now in building up a barn,
or in filling it when complete; driving the waggon and its load to a
distant market, and bringing back at any hour, and in all seasons, the
stores that varied their farm-grown contributions to the larder; and
when winter-time brought comparative leisure, turning to books for
almost the only education procurable in the rough and primitive region
they inhabited;—boys, so reared, could scarcely be other than bold,
energetic, and fruitful in resources, and equal in after life to the
shifting exigencies of an active military career. From such a parent,
and such a childhood and youth, and with such an early training, sprang
President and General Zachary Taylor, whose recent death our
Transatlantic brethren are even now deploring; and the story of whose
life their journals will help us to tell.
Zachary Taylor before he was twenty-one volunteered to leave home on a
military expedition needed by the exigencies of the time. This, his
first essay in war, proved very harmless; for no enemy was found, and he
soon returned to his father’s farm, with a taste, however, for the new
life he had made this short trial of. The taste thus acquired induced
him to accept with great alacrity an opportunity that subsequently
offered of joining the regular army of the United States, which he did
in 1803, with the rank of lieutenant. Shortly afterwards an occasion
arose for distinguishing himself, and he did not let it pass unimproved.
He defended a post called Fort Harrison, against great odds; and by the
check thus given to a large hostile party of Indians, saved a frontier
from devastation. This gallant commencement was followed by a succession
of equally noticeable exploits. He courted every chance of securing
active service, and in succession won new reputation in contests with
the Indians, with the English, and lastly with the Mexicans. Since it
was with this last opponent that his chief battles were fought, and his
really important victories won; and as those victories have gained an
European reputation from the fact that they led to the acquisition of
the real land of gold—El Dorado—California itself; we may glance over
the events that induced and characterised the strife, and led to so
memorable a result.
Mexico and the United States had long had causes of quarrel; not the
least of which was that the Mexicans got into debt to the Yankees, and
would not pay what they admitted to be due. With several such unsettled
and unsatisfactory accounts on hand, the Texas difficulty arose, and a
large body of the Texians declaring for annexation with the United
States, the few scruples that stood in the way of such an increase of
dominion were quickly overlooked, and the large and fertile province was
incorporated in the Union. Half such a cause of quarrel was enough to
secure a declaration of war from a country like Mexico—_a country that
has gone through eighteen revolutions in twenty-five years_—and
accordingly war began. The Mexicans took steps for re-assuming the lost
Texas, when, on the 4th of February, 1846, General Taylor received
orders to march, with a force of three thousand men under his command,
to the Rio Grande, the western limit of the newly-attached State. The
President, for the time being, of Mexico claimed Texas as a revolted
province, and hastened to submit the question to the ordeal of battle.
The Mexicans shed the first blood. They took some prisoners—some
Americans—and shot them in cold blood; and soon afterwards they captured
more Americans, including some women, whose bodies were discovered
subsequently with their throats cut. This brutality added fuel to the
flame before existing, and the struggle began that ended in the capture
of Mexico and the cession of California.
The early days of the war were characterised by many acts of daring
bravery. Amongst others, we find mention of the feat performed by a
Captain Walker. The Americans were in total ignorance of the movements
of the enemy, when they heard cannonading in the direction of a fort
with which they had been unable to keep open communications. Taylor
dispatched a squadron of cavalry, who returned without definite
information, and the General was in suspense as to the condition of his
friends in the fort, when Captain Walker arrived in the camp bearing
dispatches from the leader of the beleaguered party in Fort Brown. He
had left the small stronghold under the cover of night, and with no
other guide than the wind on his cheek had tracked his way through the
enemy’s camp, and through the wild, roadless country that lay between it
and the army of General Taylor. He brought the news that the Mexicans
had attacked Fort Brown, opening upon it a heavy cannonade. The besieged
had, however, returned the fire with spirit, and had succeeded in
dismounting some of the Mexican guns. General Taylor at once set off to
raise the siege, taking with him two thousand three hundred men. With
this force he encountered the enemy at Palo Alta, and the battle so
named was fought. For five hours was the strife continued, when the
attacking party carried the day. The Mexicans fell back.
On the next morning another engagement took place with the same result.
The Mexicans lost a thousand men; some cannon; and had one of their
generals taken prisoner;—and Fort Brown was relieved.
The war had thus commenced. The Mexicans loudly denounced what they
called the dismemberment of their empire; the Americans heard with
evident joy that their small army had won two battles of an enemy who
had provoked the encounter.
President Polk (the history of whose administration, by L. B. Chase,
affords us some of these particulars) was, after much debate, authorised
to call into the field volunteers, “to serve for a year or during the
war.” Double the number asked-for soon offered themselves, and General
Taylor found himself at the head of a force comparatively undisciplined
but eager to advance, and equal to almost any amount of endurance in the
prosecution of the enterprise on hand. The temper of the new levies was
soon tried. The fight at Monterey was a repetition, on a larger scale,
of the scenes and successes near Fort Brown. The Americans attacked and
put to flight an enemy four times as numerous as the attacking force.
The Mexicans seemed to think their invaders invincible; victory for the
American flag was the result of each encounter, and before long General
Taylor had a greater extent of country in his possession than the whole
force under his command could well grasp with security. At this juncture
General Scott, who for some time before this war began, had been
Commander-in-Chief of the American Army, finding that great renown was
being won by his junior officer, wrote from New York to General Taylor
to state his intention of taking command in Mexico, and leading forward
an additional force in advance of the positions conquered and held by
Taylor. General Scott decided upon attacking Vera Cruz, and Taylor,
being ordered to act on the defensive, complained bitterly when he found
that Scott was to withdraw from his command all the regular troops he
had, with the exception of one thousand men, leaving him to defend his
position chiefly with volunteers, and these in deficient force. The
military law of obedience to orders, however, left no choice, and though
stating his belief in the weakness of his army he declined to fall back,
urging the bad effect such a step must have on the minds of his new
levies. He enjoyed the prestige of successive victories, and by
supporting that alone could he hope to maintain his small force against
an enemy so largely outnumbering him.
About twelve thousand Americans had marched under Scott against Vera
Cruz; about five thousand mustered under the flag of Taylor, when the
news came that Santa Anna, with an army of twenty thousand strong, was
marching upon the scattered and weakened forces of the smallest of the
two American armies. Scott was too far on his way towards the sea coast
to march to the rescue of Taylor, and the latter was left to do his best
alone. On the morning of the 23rd of February, 1847, the unequal battle
began. General Taylor had secured for his five thousand men a strong
position at Buena Vista, in which the artillery of his antagonist could
not readily be brought into play. When Santa Anna approached with twenty
thousand men, he sent a message to Taylor to surrender at discretion; a
request which the American chieftain abruptly declined, and the fight
began. The contest was long and doubtful. The disparity of numbers was
soon felt, and the feeling that all depended on their valour nerved the
attacked party to greater desperation in their defence. Less than five
hundred of Taylor’s men were regular troops; more than four thousand of
them, but a few months before, were at work in the fields, and on
wharfs, and in warehouses in the States. But volunteers though they
were, no veterans could have done more. About seven hundred of them
fell, killed and wounded, but night, which stayed the battle, saw the
Mexicans in retreat before a force over which, in the morning, they
expected a rapid and easy victory. The gallantry of the Anglo-Saxons
prevailed over the numbers of their semi-Spanish antagonists, and Santa
Anna retreated with an army weakened by the loss of nearly two thousand
killed and wounded. “Along the road leading from Buena Vista to Agua
Nueva (says Mr. Chase), a scene of horror was presented on the night of
the 23rd of February. The means of transporting the wounded being
extremely limited, they were left to struggle with suffering and with
death, and the sighing of the wind and the cry of the wolf were their
only requiem. Abandoned to their fate, without food, parched with
thirst, without medical aid, and with no shelter to protect them from
the piercing night air, they awaited the moment when death should
release them from their suffering. The main body of the army reached
Agua Nueva at midnight, and, dying with thirst, many of the soldiers
plunged into a stagnant sheet of water which, in many cases, produced
instant death. Suffering from the want of food and water, dispirited and
disheartened by the result of the battle, they presented a striking
contrast to that splendid array which, buoyant with hope and confident
of victory, had attacked the American army.”
Many anecdotes of this period of Taylor’s career are told with pride by
his countrymen. Here are some of them which amusingly illustrate the
character of the man.
First we have one descriptive of his personal appearance.
“Winding down a hill near Mont Morales, the column is halted to let a
troop of horse pass. Do you see at their head a plain looking
gentleman, mounted upon a brown horse, having upon his head a Mexican
sombrero, dressed in a brown olive-coloured loose frock coat, grey
pantaloons, wool socks, and shoes? From under the frock appears the
scabbard of a sword; he has the eye of a hawk, and every lineament of
his countenance is expressive of honesty, and a calm determined mind.
The plain looking gentleman is General Zachary Taylor, who, with his
military family, and a squadron of dragoons as an escort, is on his
way to the front.”
A few more anecdotes will serve to show the peculiarities of the now
deceased general.
“After the capitulation of Monterey, the officers of the army used
their exertions to get General Taylor to move from his camp at St.
Domingo to the Plaza, and there establish his head quarters. Several
public buildings were examined and decided upon as suitable. After
considerable persuasion General Taylor consented to move, at the same
time giving the following instructions:—‘Choose a pleasant location—a
house that is surrounded by a garden filled with large trees; put up a
tent under the trees for my residence, and you [the staff and other
officers] may have the house in front.’ It is needless to add, that no
more was said about the head quarters being removed into the city of
Monterey.
“In the early part of a severe action, when the enemy had succeeded in
turning the left wing of his little army, and secured a seeming
advantageous position in rear of their line, at the base of the
mountain; when a portion of the troops, overpowered by the superiority
of numbers, were forced to retire in “hot haste;” when, indeed, the
fortunes of the day seemed extremely problematical, an officer of high
rank rode up to General Taylor, and announced the temporary success of
the enemy, and expressed his fears for the success of the army.
Taylor’s reply was characteristic of the man. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘so long
as we have thirty muskets, we can never be conquered! If those troops
who have abandoned their position can be rallied and brought into
action again, I will take three thousand of the enemy prisoners. Had I
the disposition of the enemy’s forces, I would myself place them just
where they are.’ The officer resumed his duties with a light heart,
considering that the battle, in spite of appearance, was already won.”
The volunteers who flocked to his standard soon learned to regard the
old general as a friend as well as a commander.
“As proof of his humanity, it is recorded that Taylor, before leaving
the battle-ground of Buena Vista, ordered upwards of forty mule loads
of provisions to be sent from his camp to Incarnacion, for the use of
the wounded Mexicans who were in the hospital there, and starving from
hunger.
“Taylor told General Ricardo that General Ampudia had written to him,
stating that the war should be conducted in accordance with the usages
of civilised nations, but that after the last battle they had
barbarously stripped and mutilated our dead. To this charge General
Ricardo replied, that ‘this was done by the rancheros, who could not
be controlled.’ ‘I am coming over, and will control them for you,’
said Taylor.
“The general had assembled his council of officers the night previous
to the conflict of Buena Vista, for the purpose of hearing their
suggestions in relation to the approaching battle. A good deal of
uneasiness was exhibited—objections were raised—the disadvantages of
the immense ‘odds’ were presented—propositions to retire and wait for
reinforcements were urged—some were for giving the enemy battle—and
one proposed that the American army should ‘fall back’—when the old
hero’s opinion was asked. ‘Are you all done, gentlemen?’ Every one had
finished. ‘Then, gentlemen, I will adjourn this meeting,’ coolly added
Taylor, ‘_till after the fight to-morrow_.’ ‘Good!’ was the unanimous
response. The battle was fought and—won.”
But we must return to our narrative. Whilst Taylor was holding his
position in the interior, General Scott was approaching the sea coast,
and a naval force being there ready to co-operate with him, the news
that reached Santa Anna not long after he had been beaten by Taylor was,
that the Americans had bombarded and captured Vera Cruz. The Mexicans
were deeply dispirited; intestine quarrels and partisan disputes, added
to the presence of a foreign enemy, rendered them more than ordinarily
indisposed to make any really great and national exertions for their
defence. Santa Anna had by his personal crimes gained many enemies, and
there were not wanting Mexicans who secretly hailed the advent of the
Americans rather as an advantage than a calamity. Hence, when Scott
advanced from his newly acquired stronghold upon the city of Mexico
itself, Santa Anna could at first bring only six thousand men to oppose
his march, and these were met and beaten at Jalapa by the Americans.
Three desperately contested battles soon followed, in which the
invaders, though suffering most severely, came off victorious. In one of
these, three thousand one hundred Americans met and defeated fourteen
thousand Mexicans, leaving, however, seven hundred of their comrades
dead upon the field. The final attack was upon the city itself, and by
the 14th of September, Santa Anna had fled; the city of the Montezumas
was in the hands of Brother Jonathan, and the stars and stripes waved on
the national palace of Mexico.
General Taylor never entirely forgave the Commander-in-Chief for taking
from him the best part of his force, and he contended that had Scott
threatened Vera Cruz only, and so divided the attention of Santa Anna,
leaving the army at Monterey in its full force to march thence upon the
capital, Mexico would have been taken at a less cost of time and blood
than was ultimately expended on the conquest of the place. So also
thought a large section of the American people, and though another
commander actually took possession of the capital, Taylor was popularly
regarded as the real hero of the Mexican war. This feeling was
strengthened when the series of quarrels began between Scott and his
companions in arms, and between that general and the American Minister,
Mr. Trist, deputed to arrange a treaty between the two countries; and
when Scott left the army in charge of General Butler to return in
disgust to the United States, there was no officer in all Mexico, whose
reputation could stand in competition with that of “Old Rough and
Ready,” as Taylor was now called. He was looked upon as the one heroic
leader of the successful war.
Bayard Taylor, after his stay in the city of Mexico, says he does not
believe that Mexican enmity has been increased by the war, but rather
the contrary. During all his stay in the country he did not hear a
bitter word against the Americans. The officers of the United States’
army seem to have made friends everywhere, and the war, by throwing the
natives into direct contact with foreigners, greatly abated their former
prejudices against all not of Spanish blood. The departure of the
American troops is declared to have been a cause of general lamentation
amongst the tradesmen of Mexico and Vera Cruz. Nothing was more common
to me (continues the traveller) than to hear Generals Scott and Taylor
mentioned by the Mexicans in terms of entire respect and admiration. “If
you see General Taylor,” said a gentleman to his namesake Bayard, “tell
him that the Mexicans all honour him. He has never given up their houses
to plunder; he has helped their wounded and suffering; he is as humane
as he is brave, and they can never feel enmity towards him.”
Not without contest and difficulties, but still by a considerable
majority, General Taylor was in November, 1848, rewarded for his many
years’ services by being installed in the highest position his
countrymen had in their gift. They made him President of the United
States, and his term of office in that capacity commenced in March,
1849, under the favourable impression created by the following
straightforward declaration:—
“I intend that all new appointments shall be of men honest and
capable. I do not intend to remove any man from office because he
voted against me, for that is a freeman’s privilege; but such
desecration of office and official patronage as some of them have been
guilty of to secure the election of the master whom they served as
slaves is degrading to the character of American freemen, and will be
a good cause for removal of friend or foe. The office of the
government should be filled with men of all parties; and as I expect
to find many of those now holding to be honest, good men, and as the
new appointments will, of course, be whigs, that will bring about this
result. Although I do not intend to allow an indiscriminate removal,
yet it grieves me to think that it will be necessary to require a
great many to give place to better men. As to my cabinet, I intend
that all interests and all sections of the country shall be
represented, but not, as some of the newspapers will have it, all
parties. I am a whig, as I have always been free to acknowledge, but I
do not believe that these who voted for me wish me to be a mere
partisan President, and I shall, therefore, try to be a President of
the American people. As to the new territory, it is now free, and
slavery cannot exist there without a law of Congress authorising it,
and that I do not believe they will ever pass. I was opposed to the
acquisition of this territory, as I also was to the acquisition of
Texas. I was opposed to the war, and, although by occupation a
warrior, I am a peace man.”
His subsequent conduct tended to realise the hopes created by this
opening avowal. But a life of hardship and an age verging on sixty
years, prepared him, but indifferently, to meet the renewed exertions
required by his new position. Resigning the panoply of the general to
assume the garb of the President, he gained a respite from the toils of
war to accept the still more soul-wearying contests, jealousies, and
responsibilities of civil government. With soldierly determination,
however, he addressed himself to the task, and, like a true hero, fell
with harness on his back. He was born on the 9th of November, 1786—he
died on the 9th of July, 1850. His last words were:—“I am prepared. I
have endeavoured to do my duty.” May all deathbeds be consoled by the
truthful utterance of such a sentiment.
* * * * *
Monthly Supplement of “HOUSEHOLD WORDS,”
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THE HOUSEHOLD NARRATIVE
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