To gain this victory, it seemed only necessary to gather large forces, bar the road from the north with fortifications, make no defence of outlying sections, worry the Americans perhaps with feints and forays, await and repulse them should they advance, and at the end of the winter season, should they not, fall upon some fraction of their army with full power. One difficulty in this programme was the general hatred which he must have known the northern provinces entertained for him, because his policy had always sacrificed their interests; and he thought it wise to despatch a proclamation to San Luis Potosí, calling upon the people to see in him only a Mexican soldier fighting for the common country. The appeal was effectual. A committee met him about a dozen miles from the city, and on October 8 he entered a town decorated with tapestries and pots of flowers, and resounding with salvos of artillery, peals of bells and enthusiastic vivas from the entire population.[7]
A number of circumstances occurring now and later appeared favorable. The government engaged that he should have an adequate remittance of funds every month, and instructed the heads of seven states to supply his general wants. A medal was promised to all taking part in the campaign. The National Guards, now ordered to obey the central instead of the state authorities, apparently came within his reach. The fight at Monterey was pictured as creditable to Mexican arms and costly to the enemy. Every life sacrificed there on the altar of nationality, proclaimed the government, called to heaven for vengeance, and the outrages perpetrated by the insolent invaders proved how they would trample on the whole country, if they could.[7]
Once more our wicked administration and its horde of “adventurers” were denounced in the good old blood-curdling style, and once more the forays of the savage Indians were laid to our charge. Detestable wretches like the Americans could not wage war long. Their beloved money-bags were already feeling pinched. Volunteers did not flock to the banner. Noble orators like Webster were enlightening the better people. The slavery question could not fail to paralyze the country. Already the elections had turned against the administration, and signs of a revolution could be seen. European countries were certainly preparing to interfere. Merely by uniting, the Mexicans could “tear from the invader’s flag the symbol of Texas,” and at last—so it was declared—union had actually been achieved. On all sides patriotism had burst into flame. The nation was rising. It would take account of every injury, great or small, inflicted by the barbarians of the north, and the day of settlement would soon arrive. In this fashion talked the government, the orators and the newspapers; and many observers in Europe and the United States believed the overdue national movement had now begun.[7]
But this radiant picture was only paint-deep. Don Simplicio, the satiric weekly, announced: It is proposed that all give, that all lend, that all rise, that all go to the field; but “few give, few lend, few get in motion, few take up arms.” The states, restored to a measure of sovereignty by the adoption of the federal system, became conscious of their powers. Durango would not help, because threatened by the Indians, and even denounced the Hero of Tampico. Michoacán held aloof because Ocampo, her brilliant governor, who could voice his opinions in five languages, hated Santa Anna even more than he did the Americans. The great state of Jalisco promised much and did little; and Zacatecas, which Santa Anna had crushed and robbed in 1835 because it dared to oppose his ambition,[5] not only withheld all aid, but attempted to form a combination of states against him. A multitude of officials preferred the triumph of a foreign invader to that of a native tyrant, and their constituents endorsed their course.[7]
The decree taking the National Guards from state control had to be substantially qualified. Members of that organization could not be impressed. The law pardoning—that is to say, authorizing—desertion from the regular army was extended for three months. A secret society called The Red Comet, which sprang up among the military men at San Luis, took for motto, “Nobody is bound to obey one that has no right to command,” and annoyed the General constantly. Requena, one of the best qualified officers, who entertained little respect for the Liberator’s professional ability or plans, made so much trouble that he was sent away; and General Valencia, a member of the Red Comet society, who had been refused permission to attack the Americans at Victoria and was believed now to covet Santa Anna’s place, openly defied the commander-in-chief and left the army.[7]
SANTA ANNA’S EMBARRASSMENTS
Still more serious were financial difficulties, for the Executive did not supply the promised funds. The reason was obvious. “Our treasury is as poor in money as it is rich in obligations,” explained the minister. Santa Anna did not spare the government, however. “I do not consider myself nor should I be considered by the gentlemen who compose the provisional administration of the Country as a mere General, commanding a corps of the army, but as the one leader of the Nation, to whom the direction of its destinies has been entrusted,” he wrote; and in this tone he conducted the financial correspondence—demanding, reproaching, protesting, threatening; yet the needful remittances did not arrive. Popular support was equally unfruitful. “Santa Anna lacks three things—to wit, money, money and money,” announced Don Simplicio; “Very well, let us have a public meeting. What is the result? Nothing.” But somehow, through remittances from the capital and the states, forced loans, arbitrary seizures and the use of his personal credit, the General worried along, and built up an army of some 25,000 men.[6] Extensive shops were established for the manufacture of clothing and the repair of arms; and energetic measures were taken to provide muskets, ammunition and cannon.[7]
Santa Anna’s operations were not, however, entirely sagacious. As was usual in Mexican armies, number outweighed quality. Consisting mostly of impressed men and to a considerable extent of criminals, the troops were unreliable. They were drilled in no larger bodies than brigades; many had no practice in firing; and most of them were very imperfectly disciplined. The artillery did no manoeuvring. There was no school for officers. Persons of a notoriously bad reputation as soldiers occupied high posts. Santa Anna showed marked favoritism toward certain regiments and certain men. Never visiting the drill-ground, he could not estimate the relative qualities of the various corps, and he was too much engrossed in politics and personal interests to concentrate his attention upon the work in hand. All of the generals who tried to do their duty gave too much time to the details, and studied the plans of campaign too little. What was hardly less important, Santa Anna, instead of instructing the troops regarding the national issues at stake, talked much about the booty to be stripped from the Americans, and in particular about an alleged blue wagon containing their military chest. Still, the army took shape, and the General looked hopefully toward spring.[7]
But now came one of those whirls of fortune that always hover about leaders of dubious antecedents. November 26 an influential newspaper of the capital, El Republicano, copied from the New York Herald a letter of September 22, written from Mexico City, which stated that Santa Anna, acting in collusion with the United States, would abandon the invaded provinces, resist the enemy feebly, satisfy the nation of its impotence, bring about a peace agreeable to the United States, and become the dictator of Mexico.[8] Already there had been suspicions, and now they crystallized instantly round this definite accusation. Why had the Americans allowed the ablest citizen of Mexico to pass through their fleet? Why had Tampico and Saltillo been evacuated? Why had not the passes of the Sierra Madre been fortified? And why had Valencia been forbidden to attack the enemy at Victoria? The government denounced the story as a scheme to create discord and break down the national champion. Santa Anna does not need to become a traitor in order to be the first Mexican, it was said. Had he made such a bargain, the United States would have kept it secret in order that he might be able to do his work. Has he not shed his blood for the country? Has he not recently declined the supreme power? The defence was plausible, but the facts looked more than plausible.[10]
And the situation had other aspects, too. As Governor Olaguíbel of México state informed Santa Anna, more things were said against him than even a long letter could specify. San Luis was described as changing under his influence into a new Capua, where he was wasting the funds of the country on his vices—not only gambling, but inducing the officers to gamble with him. His political attitude was viewed with distrust, and familiar signs indicating an intention to overthrow the government were believed to be discernible. Even the correspondent of the London Times described his policy as “dark and tortuous,” and the British minister deemed it an “enigma.” Many said his troops were more dangerous to Mexico than to the United States. The wide extent of his military jurisdiction was described in the press as alarming. By January each day brought fresh rumors of an approaching dictatorship. Olaguíbel’s letter spoke the word frankly. Then came news that the troops at Mazatlán had pronounced for it, and Santa Anna’s repudiation of their course only convinced the public that he preferred to wait for a time.[10]