Gone for Soldiers, Page 2

  Anxious for life in combat, he is thrilled to be ordered to Baltimore in 1812, as the tensions with Britain continue to grow. In June, when war is declared, Scott is promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, is assigned to duty in northern New York, on the Niagara frontier. He begins to believe that President James Madison has no instinct for military operations, watches in amazement as the army commanders above him are appointed only as a reward for their good service during the Revolution, thirty years earlier. It is yet another example of his impatience, and his indiscreet judgment of superiors, that will surround him in controversy most of his career.

  In service against the British threat along the Niagara River, he endures what he sees as the complete ineptness of his commanders, creates controversy and nearly ends his own career by performing operations without orders. But as the war goes favorably for the British, the country cannot afford to rely on aging obsolete commanders, and Scott’s successes on the field are finally celebrated in Washington. As the frail commanders blunder their way into retirement, Scott’s rise to prominence is assured, and he receives promotion to Brigadier General. In his most significant action, he defeats a much larger British force in the Battle of Lundy’s Lane, near Niagara Falls, where he receives a severe shoulder wound. In 1815, while he waits anxiously for return to combat, the war ends.

  He visits France, wearing the mantle of a military hero, feasts upon the attention he receives. He observes the foreign curiosity about this strange American nation, so unlike the monarchies of Europe. He is inspired to speak out for the American system, begins to consider himself a custodian of the nation’s honor.

  He marries Maria Mayo in 1817, and fathers seven children, but only three daughters survive childhood. His career takes him far from home, and even in peacetime he is not an attentive husband and father. Maria tailors her life accordingly and never seems to resent his absence.

  He grows older learning none of the lessons of diplomacy, feuds with Andrew Jackson, another man of great ego, and another hero of the war. When Jackson is elected President in 1828, attempts are made to repair the rift, and the two men recognize the importance of their professional relationship; however, a friendship never develops between them.

  In the peacetime years, Scott settles into the comfortable life as a senior commander of the army, gains considerable weight, and continues to build a reputation for fairness and efficiency. He oversees the actions of various Indian conflicts, travels to Charleston to put down the secessionist rebellion of 1832, and defuses the Aristook War in New England. In 1841 he receives promotion to Major General, and the following year he is named General-in-Chief.

  He uses the peacetime years to great advantage, continues to shape the army into the most modern of its day. He carries well the lessons learned in 1812, insists on developing the artillery first, proposes that the soldiers should be full-time and professional. As events begin to heat up on the border with Mexico, he actively plans strategy from his office in Washington, but learns quickly that the new President, James K. Polk, is a man driven first by political loyalties, and Scott does not play the game.

  As Zachary Taylor languishes in northern Mexico, Polk’s cabinet can no longer ignore the strategy that Scott proposes. Supported by the navy’s senior commander, Commodore David Conner, and finally by Secretary of War Marcy, Scott succeeds in convincing Polk that the invasion plan is the best way to win the war, and that Scott himself is the best man to lead the charge. With great reluctance, Polk orders Scott to Mexico.

  Arriving first in south Texas, Scott immediately pulls the best units from Taylor’s army, with the explanation that bringing fresh and untrained troops into the war would consume too much time. Taylor fumes, and when Scott arrives to meet with him, Taylor simply stays away. The two men never speak during the war.

  Surprisingly, Scott ignores Taylor’s insubordination, proceeds with his plan, and brings much of Taylor’s army to the Gulf coast. As he organizes his staff, he sorts through the records of many fine officers, chooses men he believes have special talent, including one man who has built a distinguished reputation in the Corps of Engineers.

  CAPTAIN ROBERT EDWARD LEE

  Born January 19, 1807, at Stratford Estate, eastern Virginia, he is the son of Henry “Light-Horse Harry” Lee, an illustrious hero of the American Revolution and a product of one of the more aristocratic families of Virginia. Lee’s ancestry includes two signers of the Declaration of Independence. His relationship with his father is fractured at best. His father’s later life is marred by debt and a scandalous reputation for business. Eventually Lee’s father is forced to leave his family and Virginia behind, and dies in Cumberland Island, Georgia.

  Lee attends West Point, and graduates in 1829 second in his class, achieving notoriety for the extraordinary accomplishment of never having received a single demerit in his four years as a cadet. What should be a year of celebration for Lee is changed dramatically when his mother, Ann Carter Lee, dies in his arms. His devotion to her has always been magnified by the disgrace she has endured from her husband’s failures, and throughout the remainder of his life Lee is never far from the awful moment of her death. He embodies his mother’s quiet piety, and Lee’s religious faith hardens into a strong foundation that he will rely on to guide him through his entire life. He is devoutly fatalistic, believes completely that every event of his life is a result of God’s Will.

  He marries Mary Anne Randolph Custis, an only child and a descendent of Martha Washington. Her father’s estate of Arlington is perched on a prominent hillside across the Potomac River from the capital.

  Though often away with his various duties, Lee makes the extreme effort to be home with his family at Christmas, and for several years each visit seems to produce a child, seven in all, who all survive to adulthood.

  Lee’s high standing at West Point provides him a position in the much sought after Corps of Engineers, and Lee excels at every post he is assigned. He assists in designing many of the forts along the Atlantic coast, from Florida to New York. In 1837 he travels to Missouri, where he takes on his most outstanding task as an engineer—rescuing the port of St. Louis by rerouting the flow of the Mississippi River, thus washing away shallow bars of sand that had blockaded the port. His success earns him accolades from the civilian officials of the city and a promotion to Captain.

  In 1840 he returns to Washington, where he resumes duty repairing and constructing the various eastern forts, spending much of his time at Fort Hamilton, New York.

  In June 1844 he is assigned duty as one of the designated commissioners to observe the final examinations of the West Point cadets. Here, he becomes reacquainted with General William Worth, who had been Lee’s own commandant, and establishes a friendly relationship with the army’s commanding general, Winfield Scott. Lee leaves the Point having no idea of the impression he has made on his superior officer.

  Lee begins to feel frustrated by the duty he regards as increasingly routine, and he finds little challenge in the constant repair of the existing forts. In early 1846 he is distracted by excited talk of the activity along the Rio Grande, and follows the diplomatic wrangling of the day with great interest. But his duty keeps him at Fort Monroe, often observing the departure of ships filled with men he knows, who are bound for the activity in south Texas. Without warning, in August 1846, Lee receives orders to report to San Antonio, Texas, to the command of General John Wool. A month later he reaches his new post.

  Texas is a different world for Lee, and Wool’s men are not yet active, thus Lee uses the time to explore the old-world charm of the city. He visits the Alamo, which still shows signs of the slaughter at the hand of Santa Anna. In San Antonio he first begins to understand that this new duty might become very different from anything he has yet experienced.

  Wool’s command begins to march, separates from the bulk of Taylor’s army, moves farther west in an attempt to locate and possibly confront Mexican forces rumored to lurk just below the Rio Grande. Still an eng
ineer, Lee assists in the building of a bridge for Wool’s troops to cross the river. But there is no enemy to be found, and while Wool receives continuing reports of Taylor’s bloody duels against the Mexicans, Wool’s troops spend long days marching in pursuit of rumor, rushing forward to confront an enemy that simply isn’t there. As Taylor’s star rises as a result of his first victories of the war, Lee begins to understand Wool’s frustration, and while under Wool’s command, Lee never sees a Mexican soldier.

  Busy with his new duty of smoothing the primitive roads and providing bridges for the troops to cross the various rivers, Lee is painfully aware that Christmas, 1846, is the first he has not spent at home with his young family. In mid-January 1847, Lee is surprised to receive an order to leave Wool’s command and join the staff of Winfield Scott, on the Texas coast. Weary of rumor, Lee goes to great lengths to verify what has been circulating around the campfires for weeks. Scott himself is commanding a new force, and much of Taylor’s army is leaving the wilderness for the ships in the Gulf.

  Lee spends his fortieth birthday on horseback, makes the dusty journey imagining what the duty might be like under the eyes of the commanding general himself. The rumors follow him still, reports of great hordes of Mexican soldiers, the threat of battles yet to come. He reaches the coast, anxious to learn for himself what so many of the experienced officers seem to understand. As the army comes together on the Gulf coast, the troops ignore the politics, know nothing of the diplomatic chaos, the argument over borders. The mission is now simple and straightforward.

  For the first time in his life Lee becomes part of a different kind of army, commanded by a professional soldier, a man who knows how to fight a war.

  1. LEE

  MARCH FIFTH, 1847

  THEY HAD SAILED EARLY, CUTTING SOUTHWARD THROUGH THE quiet water, the rugged coastline barely visible to the west. Lee had moved to the bow of the tall ship, staring out quietly, tasting the salt air, the cool wind that pushed into the great sails above him. At first he was alone, but then more of the officers were moving forward, and like Lee, they stared to the front, watching for any sign, the first glimpse of the rest of the great fleet.

  Lee glanced to one side, saw a small figure, thought, My dear friend Joe … you look awful. He would never say that to the man’s face, knew Johnston was embarrassed, sensitive about his seasickness. The agony had been on Johnston’s face even before the ship had left Tampico, and it made no difference if the weather rolled them about or, like this morning, was ghostly calm. Joe Johnston would never be a sailor.

  Lee moved toward him, eased along the heavy wood rail. “You all right, Captain?”

  Johnston, weary, his eyes heavy, looked at Lee, nodded, said nothing. Lee glanced at the dome of exposed scalp on Johnston’s head, looked away, would not let his friend catch him staring. He knew Johnston was a vain man, frustrated with the baldness that had shown itself when he was still young. He had a small frame, thin, and some at the Point had even used the word fragile to describe him. It had made Johnston furious, and Lee knew his vanity had been a form of self-defense. Johnston had begun to comb his hair straight forward, covering his high forehead. But today there was none of the self-consciousness, and Lee could not be pleased about that, knew it meant that Johnston was feeling sick indeed.

  Lee, still looking away, pointed out beyond the bow. “We’ll be there soon I think. The masts should come into view first.”

  Johnston nodded, looked now toward the horizon, his expression a mix of hope and a silent plea for the trip to end.

  Lee put a hand on Johnston’s shoulder, felt the rough wool of Johnston’s coat, felt Johnston sag beneath his grip. He pulled his hand away, thought, Maybe best to just let him be. He leaned out again on the rail, and now the sun had come up, full above the flat ocean to the east. He looked toward the warmth, felt the energy, felt a light salty breeze drifting across the deck. There was a new sound now, birds, the high call of the gulls, gathering, dancing in the air, near the stern of the ship. He looked up, smiled slightly, stared into the deep blue of a cloudless perfect morning. Suddenly there was a voice, behind him, high up on the lookout.

  “Ship ho!”

  The men around Lee pressed forward, and Lee stared again to the front, saw now a fleck of orange, a brief flicker of sunlight reflecting on … something. The others saw it as well, the soldiers betraying their excitement, while all around them the sailors seemed only to do their work, and if they paid any attention at all to what lay in front of them, they would not reveal it to these men who fought on land.

  Lee saw more reflections now, and someone had a pair of field glasses, passed them along the rail, and as each man took his turn, there was a smile, a small sound, recognition. Now the glasses came to Lee, and he raised them up, and the flecks of light were suddenly clear. He felt his heart thump hard in his chest, could not help but smile, thought, Yes, a ship! He lowered the glasses, offered them to Johnston, who took them and without looking, passed them along. Lee wanted to say something, encourage his friend, to help him put the sickness aside somehow. Still Lee’s attention was drawn to the front, where there were a great many more reflections, and it did not take the glasses to see that before them, spread across the wide gulf, was an enormous fleet.

  The first big ship was plainly visible now, and Lee could feel the Massachusetts turning, the helmsman steering General Winfield Scott’s flagship to a path closer to the warships. Lee was still feeling the excitement, examined the big ship as though he were a small child. He was stunned by the size, the great rows of small black eyes, the enormous firepower of the big man-of-war. He had seen ships like this before, near the forts in the East, but this was very different, moving past so close, the view from the deck of another great ship, so near the mouths of all those guns. Lee stared into the open gun ports, felt a sudden chill. My God, he thought, the pure power. So much artillery in one place. He had never seen a naval bombardment, certainly had never seen two great ships at war, swirling around each other in a violent fury of sound and smoke. He blinked, thought, No, you have never seen much of anything to compare to this.

  The warships had been here for a while now, had blockaded the Mexican seaports, keeping the arms and supplies away from Santa Anna’s army. The Massachusetts moved past the man-of-war, and now Lee could see out across the open water. In the distance, spaced apart in strategic formation, were more of the men-of-war, but they were the farthest ships from shore. Closer in Lee could see more detail of the smaller ships, some masted, some with steam, black smoke belching from fat smokestacks. Beyond were smaller boats, all sizes and shapes, and now he saw clusters of … he strained to see, now turned, looked for a sailor, someone who knew. One man was carrying a coil of rope, moving by with quiet efficiency, and Lee said, “Excuse me, seaman. Do you know what those might be?” The sailor looked out where Lee pointed, and other officers had turned to hear, waited for the man’s answer. The sailor took his time, enjoying the momentary celebrity.

  “Yes, sir. Those would be surfboats, sir. Oar-powered, like on whaling ships. I expect that would be how you all will be going ashore.”

  Lee turned back to the boats, could make out the shapes now, bobbing slowly beside the larger ships like rows of wooden shoes. He felt the chill again, thought, For all the firepower in the big ships, the invasion would after all rely on these surfboats, the very small and very vulnerable craft that would carry Scott’s great army to the shore. He still stared out, said in a low voice, “Then we should pray for good weather.”

  The sailor said nothing, moved away to his duty, while Lee scanned the shoreline. At first, all along the coast the horizon was nearly unbroken except for the gentle roll of sand hills. But now Lee saw something new, distant shapes, square, a church steeple, all enclosed by a long low wall. It was Vera Cruz.

  He stared that way for a long moment, thought, How will it happen? Will we sail in close, bombard the wall? How do we land those tiny boats? Perhaps … we could move inland from b
elow, come at them from behind. He understood forts, had built enough of them himself, knew that the big guns would face the sea. The glasses came back to him again, and he raised them, scanned the old city, then farther to the north, beyond, on an island, another wall, this one larger, taller, an enormous fat rock sitting alone, as though a piece of the city had broken free, drifted away, anchoring a mile off shore.

  He tried to remember the name. He had studied this place at West Point, San Juan de Uloa. Surely … no, we will not move straight into that place. Far too dangerous, a hundred guns, maybe more. Uloa had stood against invasion for centuries, and Lee thought, We are not that strong. He was suddenly the engineer, thinking of the great fort as he had the projects on the East coast. They knew something of engineering, he thought, they had some skill that maybe even now we do not completely understand. How are we to know, after all? We do not have the experience, most of our forts have never seen an enemy, may never see one. Will they stand up like Uloa, become a symbol of our strength? Or will our enemies just find a way to avoid the strength, the power of the guns, as surely we must do here. There is a lesson in this, Engineer. For all your training, all your skill, someone will find a better way, a way to defeat your fine work. Pay attention, learn from this, perhaps use it in the future. He turned, pulled his gaze away from Uloa, looked again at the sky. He felt helpless, grateful it was not his responsibility, thought, That’s why General Scott is here, why the commanding general of the army will lead this invasion himself. He became excited again. My God, what we will do here … this is important. This will make history. Whether we succeed or not … no, we will succeed. That too is why General Scott is here.