In 1842 Mexican feeling was intensified. At this time Santa Anna thought it advisable to rekindle the Texan war, now virtually dormant for six years. Very likely he did not wish to let the case go by default; naturally his recollections of Texan hospitality moved him to reciprocate; and in all probability he believed that any prospect of fighting Texas or the United States in the name of national honor would help to make his autocratic military rule more acceptable. Accordingly, several annoying though ineffective raids beyond the Rio Grande occurred, and a serious invasion was threatened. Upon this, many Texan sympathizers in the Unites States and many who thought they saw England supporting the Mexican operations, held meetings, contributed funds, and even migrated to Texas with guns on their shoulders, all of which they could legally do.[14]
In pursuance of Santa Anna’s policy—probably also to gratify the strong and universal sentiment of his fellow-citizens, aid the anti-Texas and anti-administration party in the United States, neutralize perhaps the good understanding between the United States and England resulting from the settlement of our northeastern boundary, and possibly gain the sympathy not only of Great Britain, but of her friend Louis Philippe—Bocanegra, the minister of relations, now declared war upon us in the field of diplomacy. May 12, 1842, he addressed Daniel Webster, then secretary of state, directly, protesting against the aid given Texas by our citizens, and asking whether the United States could injure Mexico any more, if openly at war against her. “Certainly not,” he said, in reply to his own question. Then he issued a circular to the diplomatic corps at Mexico, in which he charged our government with tolerating aggressions made upon Mexican territory by “subaltern and local authorities,” and announced that while his country did not wish to fight the United States, she would certainly do all that was “imperatively required for her honor and dignity.” Still not satisfied, he wrote again to Webster, though an answer to the first letter was not yet due, accusing the American Cabinet itself of “conduct openly at variance with the most sacred principles of the law of nations and the solemn compacts of amity existing between the two countries,” and threatening that a continuance of this policy would be regarded as “a positive act of hostility.”[14]
In reply to Bocanegra’s first despatch, Webster said that the American government utterly denied and repelled the charges made against it, and then with characteristic power he discussed and refuted them. We shall still maintain neutrality, he concluded, “but the continuance of amity with Mexico cannot be purchased at any higher rate.” To Bocanegra’s second letter his reply was no less positive but a great deal briefer. The President, he wrote, considers the language and tone of that communication “highly offensive,” and orders “that no other answer be given to it than the declaration that the conduct of the Government of the United States, in regard to the war between Mexico and Texas, having been always hitherto governed by a strict and impartial regard to its neutral obligations, will not be changed or altered in any respect or in any degree.”[14]
This compelled Mexico, as the British minister observed, to accept the rebuke invited by her imprudent language or begin hostilities. The former course was chosen; and Bocanegra humbly replied that, relying upon Webster’s “frank declaration” of neutrality, he would not dwell further upon the subject. Even before Webster was heard from, our minister described the state of feeling at Mexico as “most bitter”; and such a correspondence, disagreeable enough to Mexican pride, tended naturally to bring the two countries nearer to the tented field. Richtofen, the Prussian envoy at Mexico, said that Bocanegra’s note led to a distinctly hostile state of things. At one time the President of the United States did not see how war could be avoided; and the Mexican press did about all it could to create a fighting temper.[14]
An opera bouffe sequel followed. Commodore T. A. C. Jones, lying at Callao with our Pacific squadron, received some of Bocanegra’s effusions from the American consul at Mazatlán, who added that war seemed “highly probable.” Jones could not believe that a responsible minister would write so fiercely unless prepared for a conflict, and he felt sure the United States would not flinch. Anxious to provide a port of refuge for American vessels, alarmed lest England should now obtain California under some arrangement with Mexico, as she was thought ready to do, and satisfied that hostilities would actually break out before he could reach that coast, he sailed promptly and arrived at Monterey on October 19. Being a rather self-sufficient and hasty person, he investigated the matter there in but a superficial manner, and the next day politely occupied the town. He now found that war had not begun; and upon this, after hauling down his flag and saluting that of Mexico, he sailed away, while General Micheltorena, the governor, thundered grandiloquent language at him from a safe distance. Naturally the authorities at Mexico flared up at this episode; but they soon found that no charge could be made against our government, and, realizing presently with our minister’s aid that the longest finger pointed toward Bocanegra and the loudest laugh was at Micheltorena, they willingly allowed the matter to fade away. It therefore sharpened Mexican hostility far less than might have been expected, yet no doubt considerably.[15]
Meanwhile fresh trouble arose. The continuance of nominal war between Mexico and Texas and the constant danger of raids interfered seriously with our commercial interests. Near the end of June, 1842, therefore, the American secretary of state, hoping to influence the government of Mexico, observed to our minister that the war was “not only useless, but hopeless, without attainable object, injurious to both parties and likely to be, in its continuance, annoying and vexatious to other commercial nations”; and this line of policy was followed up in January, 1843. Indeed, Webster gave notice that a formal protest would very likely be made, unless the state of war should be ended or respectable forces take the field.[14]
Naturally these remonstrances, however proper, gave much offence; and the translation of John Quincy Adams’s brilliant speech at Braintree, Massachusetts, which made an eloquent but mistaken attack upon the American administration, gave the newspapers of Mexico a fresh opportunity and fresh reason to ventilate their suspicions of us. A merciless warfare upon Texas was now announced; and Santa Anna decreed in June, 1843, that all foreigners taken in arms on Texan soil should be executed. In reply to this, our secretary of state declared that American citizens could not be prevented from serving abroad, as Frenchmen and Germans had served in our own revolutionary armies; and that, if captured in Texas, they must be treated as prisoners of war. “On this point,” he insisted, “there can be no concession or compromise.”[14]
AMERICAN GRIEVANCES
Here our point of view must be shifted. So far we have mainly been concerned with complaints on the part of Mexico, and it will be admitted that in those affairs the United States did not materially injure her in any unlawful way, and exhibited no malicious intentions. We must now take up certain American grievances; and first in order may be mentioned the summary execution of twenty-two of our citizens in 1835. Under the revolutionist Mejía they had left the United States for Texas, but they were conducted to Tampico and there were captured. The minister of relations asserted that they were duly tried, and simply experienced the rigor of the law; but our minister ascertained that no trial took place. In spite of international law and treaty stipulations the government ordered them shot, and shot they were—officially murdered. At the edge of the grave eighteen of them signed a denial, their “dying words,” that any intention to invade Mexico had existed in their minds.[16]
Next may come the systematic endeavor of Mexico, even after signing the treaty of amity and commerce, to hinder our people from crossing the boundary, and in particular to keep them out of Texas. Article III of the treaty said: “The citizens of the two countries shall have liberty to enter into the same, and to remain and reside in any part of said territories, respectively.” All Mexicans were offered the full benefit of this agreement in the United States; but a Mexican law, revived by decree on April 4, 1837, with evident reference to our people, read thus: “Foreigners are prohibited from settling in those States and territories of the Confederacy which border on the territories of their own nations.” This was done on the ground that political mischief was liable to result from their presence. Now some allowance is to be made for this view. But in reality all international relations involve danger, and the country that fears it should use precautions. American sailors make trouble in French ports, but France does not refuse them admission—she appoints policemen. The danger from Americans in Texas was doubtless greater, but so were the advantages to be derived from their coming. Had Mexico governed that region well, their presence would have benefited her immensely; and to make a treaty sanctioning foreign intercourse, and then endeavor to keep the main avenue of that intercourse barred, in order to avoid the legitimate results of her own misgovernment, was an international system decidedly more novel than friendly, more ingenious than straightforward.[17]