William Walker--Boyhood and education--Doctor, Lawyer, Journalist--
Goes to California--Personal appearance and characteristics--Departure
of the Sonora Expedition--A government proclaimed--Stern discipline--
Retreat from Sonora--Bad news at San Vincente--The adventurers cross
the boundary--Walker resumes the pen.
While De Boulbon, resting upon his fruitless victory of Hermosillo,
awaited at San Francisco a chance to profit by the turn of the cards in
Mexico, he was offered, and declined, a subordinate command in an
expedition planned and conducted by the greatest of modern filibusters.
William Walker was the son of a Scotch banker who emigrated to
Tennessee in 1820, marrying there a Kentucky lady named Norvell.
William, their eldest son, was born in the city of Nashville, on May 8,
1824. His parents intended to give him a profession, preferably that of
the ministry, and, though his taste led him otherwise, the gravity of
the kirk always pervaded his manner, and theological speculations
interested him through life. His boyhood was marked by a reserved and
studious disposition, yet romantic and venturesome withal. His name
appears in the graduating class of 1838 of the University of Nashville.
The curriculum of that institution covered a wide course of study,
including, besides the branches of common education, mathematics,
astronomy, chemistry, navigation, belles-lettres, geology, moral and
mental philosophy, logic, political economy, international and
constitutional law, oratory, natural theology, the classics, and many
other studies. It was not the fault of his _alma mater_ if he failed
to prove as eminent in statesmanship as he was in arms. Duelling, the
carrying of arms, and all wrangling were prohibited by the rules of the
college. Cock-fighting was "especially forbidden." The cost of tuition
and board was between two hundred and fifty and three hundred dollars a
year. Altogether there is no reason to doubt that the University of
Nashville, "authorized to grant all the degrees which are or may be
granted by any college or university in Europe or America," was quite
able to teach a young and ambitious student the elements of a sound
education. The moral guidance of youth seems to have been well provided
for, and a healthy desire to check extravagance in personal outlay is
particularly noted in the regulations.
Having a liking for the medical profession, young Walker made a course
of study at the University of Pennsylvania, where he was a class-mate
of Dr. Elisha Kent Kane, the famous Arctic explorer. He afterwards
visited and studied at Edinburgh, in France, Germany, and Italy,
spending two years in travel, and gaining, together with his medical
education, a fair knowledge of the languages and laws of those
countries.
Of his professional experience we know little, save that he practised
for a time in Philadelphia and Nashville, but, finding the profession
unsuited to his health, he went to New Orleans and studied law. He was
admitted at the bar in that city, but did not devote himself long to
his new pursuit. He obtained a place on the _Crescent_ newspaper, and
gave himself up to the fascinating business of journalism with all the
ardour of a novice. That a man should have tried three professions so
different as those of medicine, law, and journalism, before reaching
his twenty-fifth year is not remarkable in our country. It was equally
in keeping with the character of the man of 1849, that he forsook this
latest fancy to join the host of restless spirits bending their steps
towards California. Arriving there in 1850, he became an editor on the
_San Francisco Herald_ and took sides with the faction of which David
C. Broderick was the leader. His literary style was not ill-adapted to
the journalism of the day and place, and ere long Walker the advocate
found occasion to defend Walker the editor upon a charge for contempt
of court. The lawyer failed to save the writer from the penalty of a
brief imprisonment and a fine of five hundred dollars. The same
pugnacious qualities involved him in a more serious quarrel with a
Philadelphian, named William Hix Graham, and appeal was taken to the
court of honour. The combatants met on a sandy lot outside of the city
limits. Shots were exchanged, apparently without damage to either man,
and the seconds were about to give the signal for another fire, when
one of them perceived a pool of blood at Walker's feet. The doughty
fighter had received a wound in the foot, and, in order to gain another
shot, had tried to hide it by throwing sand over the spot with his
other foot. The seconds, however, decided that honour was satisfied by
the flow of blood, and the duel went no further. After this Walker
retired from journalism, and practised law for a time in Marysville,
with success enough to satisfy the ambition of anybody who aimed at
law-expounding rather than law-making.
Walker was now (in 1852) only twenty-eight years of age. Nature had not
dealt lavishly with this man, whose ambition grasped at no less a prize
than the conquest of an empire. His figure was slight, though shapely;
he stood about five and a half feet high, and never weighed over one
hundred and thirty pounds. His closely-cut, sandy hair was thin and
almost whitish; his face was freckled and beardless, giving him a
boyish appearance. The lower half of his visage was plain, almost
commonplace, but his large, rounded forehead and keen gray eyes were
strikingly fine. When his usually cold nature gave way to emotions of
anger or excitement the eyes dilated and kindled with a greenish light,
like those of a bird of prey; the thin, short upper lip became
compressed, and the slow, quiet voice rose sharp and short. He never
showed other sign of emotion; but, says one who knew him well, "those
were sufficient to awe the most truculent desperado into a submission
as abject as that of the maniac before his keeper." Add to these a rare
frugality of speech, a morality ascetically pure, and a temperance
equally patent in word and action, and we know as much of the outward
man as did the thousands of men who feared and loved him and died for
his sake.
Joaquin Miller in his poem, "With Walker in Nicaragua," paints the
Filibuster Chief, with
"A dash of sadness in his air
Born maybe, of his over-care,
And, maybe, born of a despair
In early love."
Henningsen, who knew him intimately, was unaware of any romance in the
career of his chieftain; yet there was one, the only one of his life
and it has been given to the world, within a few years, by a near
relative of Walker. The object of his love was Helen Martin, a
beautiful New Orleans girl, whom he met in Nashville after his return
from Europe. She is described by Mr. Daniel Francis Barr, who had the
story from Walker's cousin, as "a most attractive woman--the loveliness
of face and form being enhanced by that endearing charm which
helplessness to beauty lends. For nature, so lavish in her other
endowments, deprived this beautiful creature of two most essential
faculties--she was a mute. Strange as it may seem, these two young
people, in appearance and character the apparent antithesis of each
other, allowed friendship to ripen into an ardent and lasting
affection. When Miss Martin returned to New Orleans, Walker soon
followed, and as lawyer and journalist, gained distinction in the
Crescent City. Just before the date fixed for their marriage the breath
of pestilence poisoned the Gulf breezes, and the dreaded yellow fever
became epidemic in the coast cities. Among the first to fall victim to
the scourge was Miss Helen Martin, and her death changed the entire
life-current, if not the heart of William Walker. From the ashes of a
buried love ambition rose supreme."
The Ishmaelite nature urging him to travel again, his "destiny," as he
called it, carried him to Sonora, at the moment when De Boulbon's first
expedition was nearing its vain catastrophe. No longer a lawyer, a
doctor, or an editor, he returned to California with dreams of martial
glory, crude as yet, but, to a man of his unyielding courage, full of
unlimited promise. People now spoke of "Colonel" Walker. The conferring
or the assumption of military titles, solely by the grace of popular
courtesy, was a curious foible of the Southern gentleman of the old
school. Whether this unwritten commission preceded his assumption of a
serious military career, or was coeval with it, is uncertain and of
little consequence. There was no examination of titles or antecedents
among the pioneers of California. The claimant of a military title
could best defend it by deeds of daring, and by such William Walker was
to prove himself. De Boulbon's short-lived success prompted Walker and
a few friends to turn their eyes towards the same field. An agent,
named Frederic Emory, was sent to Sonora in 1852 to treat for a
contract such as had been granted the French company. Upon the failure
of the latter, Walker and a partner, Henry P. Watkins, renewed the
negotiations in person. It does not appear that they succeeded or
received any encouragement from the jealous natives. Nevertheless,
Walker and a few of his friends set themselves to the task of
conquering the Western States of Mexico, in the face of difficulties
which might have daunted even more daring spirits. The American
Government was actively hostile to all filibustering movements. Sonora
certainly did not offer a welcome to her unsought liberators. The
singular unwillingness (already noticed by De Boulbon) of American
capitalists to furnish the sinews of illegal warfare, no doubt
continued to mark that unromantic class.
On the other hand, Walker had many warm personal friends, chiefly among
the natives of the Southern states. He was actually a sincere, even
fanatical, believer in slavery. To conquer new territory, and thus to
extend the area of slavery, was a scheme certain to meet with sympathy
throughout the South. The admission of new Northern territories already
threatened to overcome the supremacy of the South in the national
government. Sectional and party bias, personal interest, and political
prejudice moved the citizens of the slave states to withstand this new
and growing menace. Like feelings, intensified through years of
political minority, stirred the North. So far as the South was
concerned in the maintenance of slavery, her interests called for its
extension; otherwise, the growing movement for its abolition, aided by
the approaching change of political power, would soon compass its
overthrow. So, at least, and not without foresight, reasoned the
upholders of slavery in that dark and bitter era.
The impending conflict was well styled "irrepressible." Years of angry
debate had made compromise impossible, but the wiser and better heads
in either party shunned the wager of battle. Disunion was scarcely
considered as a theory, among the mass of the people, ere it sprung
into being, a fact. Doughty-tongued zealots alone talked of war, and
they were those who kept on talking after men of cooler courage had
begun to fight.
Walker, then, could confidently invoke the sympathy of the rich and
influential slave-holders in a crusade for the extension of their
favorite system. He could appeal to the daring and adventurous of every
class by the dangerous fascination of his scheme, and to the
Californian, especially, through his native hostility and contempt
towards his Mexican neighbor. For the rest, he offered as inducements
to immigrants in Sonora five hundred acres of land to each man, and
four dollars daily pay for military services. Arms and ammunition were
procured. Emigrants of strangely unpastoral bearing offered themselves
at the rendezvous. A brig was chartered and the day of departure set.
At this point the United States marshal seized the vessel. This was in
July, 1853. Three months afterwards, the emigrants, learning caution
from experience, took their steps so secretly that forty-five of
them, including Walker and Emory, sailed in the bark _Caroline_, and
arrived at Cape San Lucas, in Lower California, on October 28th.
Here they made a brief stay before continuing their voyage to La Paz.
They captured that town, together with the governor, Espanosa, on
November 3rd. Three days later a vessel arrived with the Mexican
colonel, Robollero, appointed to supersede Espanosa; him also they took
prisoner. Walker, being now in possession of the government and the
archives, called an election, which resulted in his being chosen
president. His report does not state whether or not he had any rival
for the honour. Ten others of the adventurers were chosen to fill the
several offices, civil, military and naval. Thirty-four remained mere
citizens, as there were not "offices enough to go around." "Our
government," wrote the President, "has been formed upon a firm and sure
basis." However absurd the proceedings seem to us, in the light of the
sequel, to him they appeared the solemn inception of free institutions
and a glorious future. A high-sounding proclamation was issued,
including a declaration of independence. Two months afterwards Walker
annexed, on paper, the neighboring province of Sonora, and changed the
name of the Republic to "Sonora," comprising the State of that name and
Lower California. As yet he had not set foot upon the new half of his
domain.
His friends in California were active in the meanwhile. Recruiting
offices were opened in San Francisco, to which flocked the desperate,
the adventurous, the reckless from every land. The Federal Government
could not, at least, it did not, take active steps to check them.
Between two and three hundred men were enlisted, and their passage
engaged on the bark _Anita_. The name of the vessel and the date
of her departure were kept secret from all but the leaders of the
party.
On the appointed evening, December 7, 1853, they gathered at
head-quarters. Horses and waggons were in readiness, and in a brief
time the ammunition and supplies were on the deck of the _Anita_.
Before midnight the embarkation was made, and the ship swung into the
stream. A tow-boat carried her out of the harbour in safety. Before
casting loose the lines several of the _Anita's_ sailors secretly stole
on board the tow-boat, their desertion not being perceived until the
bark was beyond hail and ploughing the waves of the Pacific. The
adventurers have been described by a friendly writer as "a hard set."
They observed their departure by a merry carouse, the while the good
bark tossed on the ocean swell and her captain cursed his recreant crew
and his boisterous freight. Then the wind arose. A sea swept the decks,
carrying overboard a dozen barrels of pork and making a clean breach
through her starboard bulwarks. The adventurers awoke next morning,
sobered and sick. A few of them who had been sailors volunteered to aid
in working the vessel. The relief came none too soon, as it was found
that the ship had been dragging her anchor and several fathom of cable
all night, the deserters having failed to make it fast. The filibusters
grimly consoled themselves with the reflection that they had not been
born to be drowned.
Arrived at San Vincente, the reinforcements went into camp, amusing
themselves, while they awaited orders to march, by foraging on the
scattered ranches. Horses were procured by forced levies, and paid for
in the promissory notes of the "Republic." Here for the first time
Walker displayed the traits of stern command which afterwards made his
name a word of terror in the ears of men who feared nothing else, human
or divine. Half a score of the boldest desperadoes in camp formed a
plot to blow up the magazine at night and desert with what plunder they
might be able to seize in the confusion of the moment. To carry out
their plan involved the risk of killing many of their comrades, as the
ammunition was kept in the middle of the camp. Notice of the plot
reached Walker, who had two of the ringleaders tried by court-martial
and summarily shot. Two others were publicly whipped and drummed out of
camp. Walker then ordered a muster of the troops, and after making a
stirring appeal to them, called upon all who were willing to abide by
his fortunes to hold up their hands. All of the original forty-five,
and a few of the _rancherio_ passengers, responded; the others
shouldered their rifles and prepared to march. Walker confronted the
recreants, and quietly ordered them to stack their arms, a command
which, after some hesitation, they obeyed. They were then suffered to
leave the camp. Less than a hundred men now formed the army of the
republic. He gave orders to march to Sonora by the mountain paths,
around the head of the Gulf of California. They buried the arms and
ammunition of the deserters in _cachés_. Two men deserted on the march
and joined the Indians, who harried the little band at every step.
The river Colorado was crossed on rafts. Disease and desertion thinned
the ranks. The wounded died for lack of proper treatment, as there was
not a case of surgical instruments in the army. They extracted
arrow-heads from their wounds with probes improvised from ramrods.
Every morning's roll-call showed a dwindling force. Beef was the only
food left. Two men quarrelled over a handful of parched corn, and one
shot the other dead. They were in rags. The President of Sonora,
wearing a boot on one foot, a shoe on the other, fared no better than
his followers. Those followers soon numbered less than fifty. A council
of war was held, and it was decided to return to San Vincente. The
Mexicans hung upon their flanks and rear, cutting off every straggler.
Recrossing the mountains, they narrowly escaped annihilation in a gorge
which widened out at the middle to a plateau of half a mile across,
with a narrow opening at either end. Half way across the plains the
Indians appeared on flank and front and opened a galling fire. Walker
here showed coolness and generalship. Leaving twelve men hidden in a
clump of bushes under command of Lieutenant P. S. Veeder, a cool young
soldier, afterwards distinguished in Nicaragua, he retreated with the
rest of the command towards the entrance of the valley. The passage had
already been closed by the enemy's forces, who met the retiring party
with an ill-aimed volley of arrows and bullets. At the same time those
guarding the other pass joined their friends on the flanks in charging
the Americans. As they passed the thicket where Veeder and his men lay
in ambush, they received a deadly volley at short range. Every bullet
struck down its man. Walker at the same time turned and delivered an
equally well-aimed fire, which put the enemy to full flight. The two
detachments then passed unmolested through the further defile before
the astonished natives could be rallied to the charge. No bribes of
_aguardiente_, with which the Mexicans were wont to ply their Indian
allies could thenceforth induce the natives to face the deadly American
rifles. They hung upon the line of march like coyotes, prowling about
the late scene of each encampment, and robbing each new-made grave of
its tenant's blanket, the only shroud of the poor filibuster who fell
in the waste places of Sonora.
At San Vincente, where Walker had left in March a party of eighteen men
to guard the barracks, he found not one remaining. A dozen had
deserted, and the rest, unsuspicious of danger, had been swooped upon
by a band of mounted Mexicans, who lassoed and tortured them to death.
So many successive reverses sealed the fate of the expedition. To wait
for reinforcements, even could they have come, from California was
hopeless. Walker had but thirty-five men remaining. They were destitute
of everything but ammunition and weapons; of these they had more than
enough. At various places they had buried boxes of carbines and
pistols. Eight guns were spiked at San Vincente. A hundred kegs of
powder were cached on the banks of the Rio Colorado. Years afterwards
the peon herdsmen or prowling Cucupa Indian stumbled, in the mountain
by-paths, over the bleaching skeleton of some nameless one whose
resting-place was marked by no cross or cairn, but the Colt's revolver
rusting beside his bones bespoke his country and his occupation--the
only relic of the would-be Conquistadores of the nineteenth century.
The stolid native who had sworn fealty to the mushroom republic, under
pain of imprisonment for refusal, easily forgot his oath when the
accursed "Gringo" had turned his back. The _rancherio_, whose sole
mementos of vanished horses and cattle were the bonds of the Republic
of Sonora, vainly proffered those securities at the cock-pit and the
monté-table. The American of the North had come and gone like a
pestilence, or like his ante-type of buccaneering days; nought remained
save disappointed ambition with the one, and a bitter memory with the
other.
The invasion was every way inexcusable. That his interference was
unwelcome to the natives Walker soon found out; nor was he slow to
learn that nothing less formidable than an army of occupation, backed
by a strong power, could push his cherished dream of a new conquest of
Mexico beyond the unsubstantial realms of fantasy.
With sinking heart, but bearing the calm front which never failed him,
he led his starving, travel-worn band toward the California frontier.
The natives made a feeble show of opposing their retreat. A host of
ill-trained soldiery, formidable only in numbers, held the mountain
heights; their Indian allies were drawn up on the plain to contest the
passage. Colonel Melendrez, commanding the Mexican forces, sent four
Indians with a flag of truce into the filibuster camp, bearing an offer
of protection and free passage across the American border to all except
the leader; Walker, with all the arms of the company, must be first
given up. Such an offer would have been rejected, in the face of
certain death, by men familiar as these were with the Punic faith of
the Spaniard. Made as it was to men who had followed their chieftain
through hunger and want, battle and defeat, up to this moment, when
they could see their country's flag waving over the United States
military camp across the border, it was treated with scornful laughter.
Melendrez then begged the United States commander to interfere and
compel the surrender, a request which, as it could not have been
granted without a violation of Mexican territory, was properly refused.
Three miles of road lay between the filibusters and the boundary line.
Walker, resorting to strategy, left half a dozen men concealed behind
some rocks to cover his retreat. The natives, with a wholesome dread of
the American rifle, followed him at what seemed a safe distance and
rode straight into the ambush. Half a dozen rifles emptied as many
saddles, whereupon Melendrez and his Mexicans galloped off at full
speed, leaving their Indian allies to follow as best they might. The
filibusters lost one man, a victim to his own indiscretion in having
borrowed a leaf from the enemy's tactics and fortified his courage with
too much _aguardiente_.
So ended the last battle of the Republic of Sonora--if it be not a
travesty to call by the name of battle a fruitless fight between a
score of men on one side and a hundred ignorant savages on the other.
Four and thirty tattered, hungry, gaunt pedestrians, whimsically
representing in their persons the president, cabinet, army and navy of
Sonora, marched across the line and surrendered as prisoners of war to
Major Mckinstry, U.S.A., at San Diego, California. It was the 8th of
May, 1854; and so Walker kept his thirtieth birthday.
A parole, pledging the prisoners to present themselves for trial to
General Wool, at San Francisco, was signed by all, after which they
were allowed to depart.
Of those starving, wounded, battle-scarred survivors of several months'
accumulated miseries the names signed to the parole contain at least
six of men who had love for their leader, or enough of unconquerable
daring, to send them, twelve months later, in search of fresh dangers
and glories under the same commander.
Walker came back from Sonora, defeated but not disheartened. He had
proved himself a leader of men, even in so small an arena. Thenceforth,
until his star of "destiny" was eclipsed in death, his name was worth a
thousand men wherever hard fighting and desperate hopes might call him.
It must be said in his favour that he sought popularity by none of the
tricks of the demagogue. In camp or field he was ever the same cold,
self-contained, fearless commander, inflexible in discipline, sparing
of speech, prodigal of action. He won the devoted obedience of the
wildest spirits by governing himself. His word of command was not "Go,"
but "Come"--the Napoleonic talisman. Only to the youngest of his
followers would he ever unbend his solitary dignity. One of them, whose
name, William Pfaff, appears on the San Diego parole, was a youth of
fifteen. He was with difficulty restrained from following his leader to
Nicaragua. He lived through four years of service in our Civil War, but
no dangers or hardships could erase the memory of his experience in
Sonora. "The rebellion was a picnic to it," said he, in the fine
hyperbole of California.
The trial of the filibuster leader for breaking the neutrality laws
of the United States ended in a prompt acquittal. Walker resumed
the editorial chair, supporting Broderick in the _San Francisco
Commercial_, the personal organ of that ill-fated politician. Let us
leave the filibuster in his Elba, and visit the country which was
destined to become the scene of his dazzling but brief career of glory,
defeat, and death.