No less extraordinary than such an undertaking were the commander and the men who undertook it. Doniphan was a frontier lawyer, entirely unacquainted with military science, but a born leader. When in Washington during the civil war he stood back to back with Abraham Lincoln, it is said, and overtopped that son of Anak by half an inch. The only distinguished man he had ever met that “came up to the advertisement,” was the President’s comment. High cheek bones, a prominent chin, thinnish and tightly closed lips, a mop of carroty hair parted well down on the left, a beard of the same hue under his chin, small, deep-set eyes, a strongly built nose, spare cheeks and a ruddy complexion told of enterprise, daring, endurance, wary judgment and kind, sincere impulses. In council he was shrewd and in danger fearless, with always a twinkle in his eye, a smile on his lips, and a cheering, well-timed pleasantry on his tongue.[6]
His men, recruited from the rural districts, had felt they were scorned a little by the St. Louis contingent, and had vowed to show them what “country boys” were made of; but they proposed to do it in their own way. While the city men had uniforms and military discipline, the riflemen neither had nor wanted such embarrassments. As every officer was a man of their own choice, they felt at liberty to choose also how far to respect and obey him. Doniphan, who loved his “boys” like a father, was loved in return, and they were ready to do anything for him; but a minor authority who meddled with their reserved rights, whatever these might happen to be, was likely to hear some vigorous cursing. Any form of manly dissipation was to their taste, as a rule; and they despised all carefulness, all order, all restraint. Yet they were “good fellows” at heart, and as full of fight as gamecocks; and now—on half rations, no salt and no pay[2]—they felt ready for whatever Mexico could offer.[6]
At Valverde Doniphan heard that forces were coming from Chihuahua to defend El Paso, some two hundred miles from Socorro, and sent an order to Santa Fe that Major Clark with six guns and one hundred men should march as soon as possible to his assistance; but without waiting for him the command advanced in three sections on the fourteenth, sixteenth and eighteenth of December. Below Valverde the Rio Grande makes a great bend towards the west, and runs through a wild, mountainous region; and hence travellers bound for the south left it on the right. Adopting this course, the Americans now marched for ninety or ninety-five miles through the dreaded Jornada del Muerto (Dead Man’s Journey), where they found no settlements except some prairie-dog towns, little vegetation except sage brush, and no water at all. At the coldest season of the year, when sentries at Santa Fe were having their feet frozen, to make such a march at an elevation of more than a mile and a quarter without fuel or tents[3] was clearly a good beginning. At Dona Ana, the only settlement between El Paso—sixty or sixty-five miles farther on—and Valverde, the straggling command was supposed to concentrate; but the concentration seemed rather nominal. Dirty, unshaven and ragged, the troops marched almost as they pleased. They were determined to survive, go ahead and fight, but little else appeared to them requisite. It was now reported that seven hundred soldiers and six guns were awaiting them at El Paso; but on December 23 the command moved on.[6]
The likelihood of invasion from the north had long been foreseen by the authorities of Chihuahua, and the expediency of making a stand at the threshold was obvious. But the citizens of El Paso, the border town, who were practical, industrious and thrifty people, had been greatly influenced, like those of New Mexico, by interest in the caravan business, contact with American traders and wagoners, and acquaintance with the ideas and methods of the United States. Almost openly, men said the town would thrive more under American rule, argued that it was the intention of the government at Mexico to sacrifice the people for the aggrandizement of its partisans and the privileged classes, pointed out that no substantial forces had come north, and asserted that what soldiers had arrived were under orders to withdraw without fighting, and leave the citizens to be punished for their loyalty.[6]
Public spirit fell to a low ebb, and there it remained. No one thought it endangered health to shout “Viva México!” But it was believed by many that in a community so honeycombed with treason, active, determined efforts in her cause would be liable to bring on an attack of cold steel or lead in some dorsal area; and when the governor of Chihuahua sent the prefect instructions on September 19 to retire, on the approach of the enemy, with all the armed forces, cattle and provisions, collect the resources of the district, and fight stubbornly on the guerilla system, no intention of obeying this order could be observed. October 12 an expedition designed to forestall invasion set out for the north; but at Dona Ana some of the troops—covertly stimulated by officers—became insubordinate; the commander understood public sentiment well enough to take their side; the whole body returned at full speed to El Paso; and the prefect dared not, or did not wish, to discipline anybody.[6]
There were now on the scene and in arms about four hundred and fifty troops and apparently about seven hundred National Guards with four guns.[4] In general two accepted schools of thought divided the soldiery. Some were for not fighting hard, and some—including most of the Presidials and National Guards—for not fighting at all; while the few and unpopular zealots felt paralyzed by a want of confidence. Colonel Cuylti, the commander, belonged to the second school of thought; and on the evening before he was to move against Doniphan, whose march had been reported about a week before, he fell sick with a subjective disability officially diagnosed as brain fever, and set out for Chihuahua with his accommodating surgeon. Lieutenant Colonel Vidal succeeded to the command and also, it would seem, to the disability, for after proclaiming martial law and pitching his camp some three miles from El Paso, he concluded to halt. The American van, described as consisting of about three hundred straggling countrymen in tatters without artillery, could be surrounded and lanced like so many rabbits, he said; but he was not personally in the mood for sport, and hence conceded this pleasure to the second in command, Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Ponce de León, assigning to him at least five hundred men[5] and a 2-pound howitzer.[6]
SKIRMISH AT EL BRAZITO
At about three o’clock on Christmas afternoon Doniphan, with less than five hundred of his careless, confident volunteers, reached a level spot on the eastern bank of the Rio Grande named Temascalitos, though often called El Brazito, approximately thirty miles from El Paso. Pickets and sentries—but not supper—being superfluous, the men scattered in search of water, fuel and other conveniences. Mexican scouts were observing their operations; but, strong in conscious rectitude, the Missourians neither knew nor cared what the enemy were about. Suddenly armed men could be seen in fine order on a hill about half a mile distant. The rally was sounded. The volunteers rushed for their arms, and with all speed they were loosely formed as a line of infantry, bent back at the extremities toward the river, and resting at the left on the wagons of the caravan.[6]
With graceful consideration Ponce gave them time by sending a lieutenant with a black flag to demand that Doniphan should present himself. Otherwise, added the messenger, we shall charge and take him, neither giving nor asking quarter. “Charge and be damned!” was of course the reply; and the Mexicans then advanced, opening fire at about four hundred yards from our line. Several volleys were delivered while the Americans, either lying down or standing firmly with cocked rifles, withheld their fire. But the powder of the Mexicans was mostly bad, they shot high, and their little gun was mismanaged.[6]
By this time they had come within easy range. At command the American volunteers now fired with great effect, and a flanking movement against the wagons was received with equal spirit by the traders and their men. Evidently there was a mistake. These fellows were not rabbits; and the Presidials and El Paso militia, candidly recognizing Vidal’s blunder, retired in disorder, compelling the rest of the body to do the same. Speed now compensated for any possible want of courage; and a party of fifteen or twenty mounted Americans, who pursued the enemy for miles, could not bring any of them to a stand. Doniphan’s loss amounted to seven men slightly wounded; that of the Mexicans to a howitzer captured and perhaps a hundred men killed or wounded; and this farcical brush, lasting thirty or forty minutes in all, has figured in American annals as the “battle” of Brazito.[6]