Late in April, and while the events, related in this chapter, were occurring, by which it became evident that serious hostilities were, at length, intended, General Taylor prudently began to strengthen his army by demands for reinforcements under the discretionary powers vested in him by government. In March, he had already called the notice of the war department to the necessity of sending recruits to fill up the regiments even to the extent of the existing feeble establishment; but, in April he authorized the raising of two companies of mounted men from Texas, and called upon the governor of that State for four regiments of volunteers, two of which were to act as cavalry and two to serve on foot. As some delay might occur in collecting these troops, he, moreover, desired the governor of Louisiana to despatch four regiments of infantry as soon as practicable, and, with this auxiliary force of nearly five thousand men, he hoped to prosecute the impending war with energy, or to carry it, if needful, into the enemy's country.
On the sixth of May, Lieutenant McPhail reached Point Isabel with some recruits for the army; and, after filling up the permanent garrison with the men who were still too raw to encounter the dangers of actual field service, General Taylor determined to march on the following day with the main body of the forces to open a communication with Major Brown and to throw forward the needful supplies of ordnance and provisions. The language of our chief did not betoken the fears which, at that moment, were felt throughout the country for the fate of his brave command, surrounded as it was believed to be, by an imposing army of Mexicans led by their bravest generals. "If the enemy oppose my march, in whatever force," said Taylor, "I shall fight him!" It was this little phrase that inspirited the anxious heart of his country and denoted the energetic character of the hero whose skill and genius were so soon to be developed in active warfare. When he marched from the banks of the Rio Grande on the 1st of May, the Mexicans believed that he fled to secure his personal safety at Point Isabel, whilst he abandoned the infantry and artillery in the fort opposite Matamoros as an easy prey to their valiant arms. Accordingly, the bells of the city rang their merry peals, and repeated bursts of military music denoted that it was a gala day in the ancient city. At that moment the great body of the Mexican army crossed the stream under the orders of General Torrejon, and these were the forces that Walker and his rangers had eluded while bearing to Isabel the cheering despatch from Major Brown.
At the close of this chapter, and while we are preparing for graver subjects, it may not be uninteresting for the reader to obtain a careful picture of those Texan Rangers, whose services had already proved so useful, and who were to play an important part in this bloody drama.
These were the bold and reckless children of the frontier, who lived forever in warlike harness, prompt to suppress the savage raids of the Indians and mongrel Mexicans who harrassed the settlements of western Texas in the neighborhood of the Guadalupe, La Vaca and San Antonio. Organizing themselves in regular companies for mutual protection along a ravaged border, they were continually prepared alike for camp or battle, and opposed themselves to the enemy at the outpost barriers of civilization.
It must not be supposed that men whose life is passed in the forest, on the saddle, or around the fire of a winter bivouac, can present the gallant array of troopers on parade, hence the Texan Ranger is careless of external appearance, and adapts his dress strictly to the wants of useful service. His first care is to provide himself with a stalwart and nimble horse, perfectly broken and capable of enduring fatigue in a southern climate. His Spanish saddle, or saddle frame, is carefully covered with the skins of wild animals, while, from its sides depend some twenty or thirty leathern thongs to which are attached all the various trappings needed in the woods. No baggage is permitted to accompany the troop and encumber it in the wilderness. A braided lariat and a cabaros of horse-hair are coiled around his saddle bow, the latter to be unwound at nightfall and laid in circles on the ground to prevent the approach of reptiles which glide off from the sleeper when they touch the bristling hair of the instrument, while his horse, tethered by the long and pliant lariat trailing along the ground, wanders but little from the spot where his master reposes.
Stout buckskin leggings, hunting shirt, and cap, protect the ranger's body from the sharp spines of aloes, or the briars and branches of the matted forest. His weapons, next to his horse, exact his attention. His long and heavy rifle carries from fifty to sixty bullets to the pound; around his waist is belted a bowie-knife or home made hanger, and sometimes, a brace of revolving pistols is added to this powerful armory. Across his right side are slung his pouch of balls and powder-horn, and the strap by which they are suspended is widened or padded over the shoulder to relieve the weight and pressure of his gun. A practised shot, he can hit his mark unerringly in full career. He may be called a "picked man," though not in the sense of the phrase as ordinarily used in military affairs. Nevertheless he is a choice soldier, for none but men of equal stamp and hardihood find their way to the border and congregate naturally for the hazardous life they endure.
From the period of the battle of San Jacinto to the year 1841, when they formed themselves into regular squadrons of rangers, these were the hardy woodsmen, who defended the frontier as independent troops, free from the control of State or government. Whenever Indians or Mexicans approached the settlements, runners were quickly despatched along the streams to sound the alarm, and in a few hours the wild huntsmen were roused for a campaign of months. All they needed for the foray was their horse, their weapons, their blankets, their pouch with fifty balls, and their bushel of parched and pounded corn. In hot weather or cold, in wet or dry, they carried no tents, and required no fresh food save the game of the forest. Such was the Texan Ranger at the outbreak of this war,—light in heart, indomitable in courage, capable of vast endurance, and sworn in his hatred of Indians and Mexicans. His life was one of continual anxiety and surprises which made him alert and watchful. He was neither a troubadour nor a crusader, yet his mode of existence had charms for multitudes of adventurers. It was not disgust with society or disregard of its comforts that forced these knights errant to the forest and kept them in a state of continual excitement; but there was a certain degree of romance in their wandering career that entitled them to respect and consideration even from the more sentimental inhabitants of cities. A life without restraint, except needful subordination when on actual duty, is always attractive, and the forester realizes it completely. Thinking much and speaking little, he considers his officer of no more value or importance than himself. Hence he yields obedience only because he knows the necessity of discipline in a hazardous service, while, off of duty, he is as familiar with his commander as with a private.
Thus the Ranger's existence has ever been a scene of fierce independence; and though approaching the ranchero in some of his restless habits, he has, nevertheless, always been distinguished from that vile compound of ferocity, treachery and cruelty, by the remnants of civilization he has borne to the solitudes of the wilderness. He was destined to be of infinite value to the regular army in a country where it was important to obtain information by reckless means among an almost Arab population. Subsequent events proved that no scouting service was so severe, no adventure so dangerous, that he would not risk his life and exercise the cunning of his craft in performing it either on the thorny banks of the Rio Grande or among the mountain defiles of Monterey.