The sentiment in favor of offering to treat with our weak and unfortunate neighbor—as illustrated by formal action in Rhode Island and New York, for example—was in fact strong. Even the British minister at Washington recognized that the feeling in the Senate was “entirely in favor of generous and pacific measures towards Mexico.” Such Whigs as Webster and Winthrop demanded that a commission be sent; Benton favored that idea; and about the middle of January, 1847, it was powerfully supported by Atocha, who presented himself at the capital. This cunning and perfectly unscrupulous intriguer, who had been expelled by Santa Anna’s enemies in 1845 because he represented the dictator’s corrupt financial methods and then by Santa Anna himself in September, 1846, because he knew too much about the Liberator’s dealings with Mackenzie, readily proved his intimacy with leading Mexicans, created the belief that he was the government’s peace agent, induced our administration to propose on January 18 a meeting of American and Mexican commissioners at Jalapa or Havana, and was made the bearer of Buchanan’s despatch to the minister of relations.[6]
Undoubtedly, though invested with no diplomatic functions, Atocha was expected to do much personally; but in this he totally failed. At Vera Cruz the people attempted to murder him. At Mexico he was ordered to leave almost immediately, and was prevented from talking with any person of influence; and such use as he contrived to make of the pen, in suggesting terms of peace to Rejón, proved utterly fruitless. In short, the American messenger was handled with tongs, and he was back at Washington about the twentieth of March with an offensively worded note, refusing to treat until all Mexican lands and waters should be evacuated by our forces. Clearly this was a most unhappy overture.[6]
WHY MEXICO WOULD NOT TREAT
Many circumstances combined to inspire such boldness on the part of our antagonist. Aside from the personal interest of many public men in continuing the war, and the belief, prompted by vanity and encouraged by specious arguments, both domestic and European, that natural defences, latent resources and the military ardor of brave citizens fighting for their homes would enable her to beat untrained money-grubbers and “cowardly adventurers,” operating far from their base—aside from all this, hatred of “the rapacious invader,” a fear that peace would only lead to fresh demands and fresh encroachments, and the fine theory that no people struggling for their independence could be vanquished exerted a strong influence.[7]
The fact that an actual occupation of California would have to be reckoned with could hardly be faced. To make peace without first gaining a victory seemed humiliating, sure to be disadvantageous, and likely to make dispirited Mexico the sport and prey of the whole world; and Santa Anna in particular felt strongly on this point, because his personal future as well as the cause of the nation required some show of success. No peace is possible now except the peace of the grave—national and racial extinction—it was insisted. Many reasoned that Polk, to satisfy the United States, would have to demand, as matters stood, a huge indemnity. Why regret a war that is bringing so much gold into the country; a war that will overthrow Santa Anna, the corruptionists, the intriguers, the military men and the sham patriots; a war that will put an end to extortion and finally unite all the good elements of the nation, demanded not a few; and why make sacrifices to stop it, when peace will bring civil wars, which are worse?[7]
Better subjugation than surrender, cried some in desperation; while others believed that an American conquest and annexation would extinguish privilege and monopoly, set up a pure democracy, ensure stability and order, bring in a flood of enterprising northerners, and make the country prosper. The clergy in particular, anxious to preserve their property and their ease, felt rather more than willing to accept such a dénouement. On the other hand, many believed that our people neither would nor could bear for any length of time the expense of the contest. This was the key to Rejón’s policy, as he told the Spanish minister. It was, therefore, only necessary to protract the war a little—meanwhile allowing the wrath of Heaven time to pass away—in order to reach the very pinnacle of glory.[7]
European journals offered much encouragement. Mexico need only be obstinate, advised the London Times, and it seemed a most agreeable prescription. The United States cannot long maintain the necessary troops, predicted the Globe. The Americans are tired of the war, need peace more than Mexico, have no disciplined soldiers, cannot follow up their successes, and with good reason dread British interference, remarked some of the French papers. Even more significant were expressions coming from the United States. Hold fast, and you can make “a brilliant treaty,” said a letter. All are disgusted with the hostilities, and in four years this country will kneel and pray for peace, declared others. Persistent American denunciations of the war as dishonorable made the idea of submission look shameful to our enemies. No nation as brave and numerous as the Mexicans have ever been conquered, announced the New York Express. The American treasury will soon be empty, predicted the National Intelligencer; and that influential paper endorsed the view that our antagonist could wear us out. Calhoun used all his powers to show that it would be “folly” to push the war, and ruin to push it successfully. Still more encouraging were the Whig orators. In the voice of doom Webster threatened the President with impeachment; and Corwin exclaimed, “Call home your army; I will feed and clothe it no longer.” Reports of a Whig revolution circulated at Mexico; and the belief, accepted by many in Europe also, that at any rate the Whigs would soon come into power and reverse the policy of the American government, was confidently entertained by our foes.[7]
But nothing proved so comforting, so cheering, as the conduct of our government. The call for 12-months volunteers appeared to indicate the limit of our endurance, and invited procrastination. Polk’s assurances, following so many earlier assurances from American Presidents, that for our own sake we desired Mexico to be strong, prosperous and friendly, implied that we did not intend to crowd her far. Our conciliatory language and repeated efforts to negotiate were noted as clear signs of weakness. The employment of an agent like Atocha seemed a confession of impotence; and the appropriation of three millions for secret expenses in order to obtain peace, as El Republicano put it, looked like throwing up the sponge. Polk wishes to exchange a bad war for a good bargain, sneered Le Constitutionnel of Paris. An extension of our boundary was believed to be one aim of the negotiations we urged; and the Mexicans felt, said Pakenham, that we should not think of buying territory, if able to take it by force. The idea of selling it under such circumstances was viewed as doubly degrading.[7]
Happily saved by his ignorance of Mexican character and sentiment from the mortification of knowing all this, fully conscious that the war was unpopular even with his own party, and hopeful that Buena Vista and the capture of Vera Cruz had affected Mexico, Polk favored the idea of a commission. Benton, however, would not have Slidell on the board; the President could not well ignore Slidell unless a higher official—the secretary of state himself—should be made sole representative; and no first-class man could go to Mexico and dance attendance on the whims, delays and insults of a government that scornfully held off. Indeed, the nation could not afford to place the head of our state department or a commission of leading public figures in such a predicament.[8]