The clash, it seemed probable, would come first in Texas, far from our centres of strength. On that field Tornel, the keenest public man in the country, insisted that Mexico could triumph over any force we could bring to bear, and Almonte offered some reasons for entertaining such an opinion. The Texan troops, he said, would exhaust their supplies before the campaign would really begin; and consequently, since there would be no way to subsist a large American force in that extensive, poor and sparsely settled region, the greater the number coming, the greater would be their sufferings. Even the cultivated districts, wrote Elliot, could support only a trifling addition, if any, to the resident population. Moreover, even should an American army be able to exist there, a few light troops placed along the frontier would keep it busy on the defensive, said Pakenham; while it was urged by Mexicans that, should our line break, their invading host would soon find itself among the opulent cities of the southern states, where perhaps it could not only exact money, but free two million slaves, obtain their grateful and enthusiastic assistance, enroll the Indians of the southwest, who detested the United States, and draw aid as well as encouragement from the abolitionists of the north. Almonte himself assured his government that the blacks, the savages and the anti-slavery extremists could be reckoned on.[10]
Possibly, of course, their line instead of ours might be the one to give way; but in that case the Americans, instead of meeting with conditions like these, would be confronted by immense distances, great deserts, furious rains, long droughts, and barren, easily defended mountains. “If the war should be protracted and carried beyond the Rio Grande,” said Captain Elliot, “I believe that it would require very little skill and scarcely any exposure of the defending force to draw the invading columns well forward beyond all means of support from their own bases and depots into situations of almost inextricable difficulty;” and a correspondent of Calhoun, referring to such natural obstacles, wrote, “nothing is more certain than your statement that [the] war will have to become defensive [on our part].”[11]
Moreover it was argued, said the Mexican minister of relations in 1849, that the invaders would be unable to obtain resources of any description from the country about them, would be masters of nothing but the ground actually occupied, and would find the difficulty of maintaining themselves, at such a distance from their base, “invincible.” On the other hand should invasion by sea be attempted, the Americans would have to struggle with tempestuous waters, a coast guarded by reefs and currents, lowlands protected by “a terrible and faithful ally”—as Cuevas described the yellow fever, more than one tremendous wall of mountains, and bad roads that could easily be closed; and they would find no vital point of attack within practicable reach. The United States cannot hope to conquer Mexico, was the conclusion of the London Morning Herald, commonly regarded as a ministerial organ; while the Paris Globe, reputed to be Guizot’s personal voice, went farther, and predicted that undertaking to do it would be “ruinous, fatal” to us.[12]
Should we, however, care to make the attempt, Mexico—it was pointed out—would not only fight on the defensive, and enjoy all the advantages of knowing the ground, moving on inside lines, and using fortifications, but would also be able to strike. Nothing would be paid on our claims, either principal or interest. There was considerable American property in the country; and while the means of her citizens were being spent in righteous self-defence, that property could hardly expect exemption. Above all, one “terrible weapon,” as the Mexican consul at New Orleans termed it, could be wielded night and day, near and far, without expense and without risk. This was the issuance of commissions to privateers, for the “nefarious” conduct of the United States in using this weapon, said the London Times, authorized Mexico to do the same. The pursuit of slavers had been so close of late that many fine Baltimore clippers, able to outsail anything but a steamer and to go where a steamer could not, were lying idle in Cuban ports, ready to scour the Gulf and the Atlantic.[13]
No less vulnerable seemed the United States in the Pacific Ocean, where—according to the New York Herald—American property worth fifteen or twenty millions was afloat. Should letters of marque be “actively and prudently distributed on the coasts of the Pacific,” wrote consul Arrangóiz to his government, “the Americans would receive a fatal blow in the captures [of whalers and merchantmen] that would immediately be made in the seas of Asia, where the naval forces of the United States are insignificant and could not promptly be increased”; and he reported in July, 1845, that owing to the prospect of hostilities the insurance companies at New Orleans were refusing to take war risks. Tornel and the other Mexican leaders counted heavily on the value of this weapon. Our own journals were full of the subject, and could find no remedy. American commerce was defenceless against such an attack, the London Times cheerfully admitted.[14]
Under these conditions it was most natural to believe that Mexico could make the war “obstinate and tedious,” as the London Standard said, and therefore extremely expensive for the United States. She could “with trifling inconvenience to Herself,” Pakenham told Calhoun, “impose upon this Country the necessity of employing as large a Naval and Military force as if the War was with a far more powerful enemy.” Obviously a great number of warships would be needed to blockade seven hundred leagues of coast and patrol two oceans, and the cost of soldiers could be figured thus, it was thought: During the war of independence in Mexico eighty thousand royal troops and sixty thousand insurgents were supported by that country; its population and resources had since increased; the United States would therefore have to send probably two hundred and fifty thousand men; and the American soldier was very expensive.[15]
The people of this nation were looked upon as worshippers of the dollar, and it was believed that war taxes would not be endured here long. Consequently, since the United States had no credit—said European journals—the conflict would soon have to end. “The invasion and conquest of a vast region by a state which is without an army and without credit is a novelty in the history of nations,” remarked the London Times in 1845. The war losses were expected to reinforce the effect of war taxes. “War with the United States would not last long,” wrote Arrangóiz, “because the [American] commerce finding itself attacked on all seas would beg for peace.” When the Mexican corsairs have captured a few American ships and the Americans have thrown a few bombs into Vera Cruz, matters will be arranged, predicted Le Constitutionnel of Paris.[16]
MEXICO RECKONS ON BENEFITS
Evidently, then, Mexico was not likely to suffer disastrously, and certain benefits of great value could be anticipated. The act of crossing swords with us would fulfil a patriotic duty and vindicate the national honor. Glory and the satisfaction of injuring a perfidious and grasping enemy would more than compensate for the cost. A conflict would prevent this greedy neighbor, as the London Times argued, from imagining that Mexico dared not resist spoliation. The American settlers, whom every effort had been made for many years to keep out of the country, would be driven away, and the danger of American ideas averted. Even if the frontier could not be forced back to the Sabine, a long period of hostilities would render it impossible to practice near the border our arts of political seduction, and merely a short contest would tend to re-Mexicanize thoroughly the northern departments. Indeed the whole country would be re-Mexicanized, for the first effect of the war would be to cure disunion and baptize the nation anew in the fires of patriotism. The necessity of meeting a foreign foe would vitalize the courage of the army, which had grown somewhat lax in battling with fellow-citizens, restore discipline, and perfect the officers in their difficult but noble profession. A blockade, many believed with Almonte and Santa Anna, preventing the exportation of silver and the squandering of good money on foreign luxuries, would be “the best possible thing” for the country. Stimulated by exemption from ruinous foreign competition, the industries would at length flourish, and the boundless natural resources of the country become fountains of wealth.[17]
War is no doubt a great evil, argued the editors of La Voz del Pueblo, “but we recall what Polybius said, to wit: ‘If many empires have been destroyed by war, by war also have many risen from nothing.’” Prussia owes her greatness to the Seven Years War, pointed out El Siglo XIX. The conquest of the Moors cost Spain a struggle of centuries, but what Spaniard would undo it? asked others. “Nations determine their history only in the most dangerous crises,” urged an anonymous but able pamphlet; “and such a crisis, in which posterity will admire us, has arrived.”[17]