SEPTEMBER 12
Early the next morning, however, the reports of spies and the roar of Scott’s heavy guns enlightened him. Troops were hurried to the real point of danger. With all speed he went there himself, ordered his best engineers to work on the fortifications near the main gateway of the Chapultepec enclosure, and posted troops close by. But there was little he could do. More and more accurately the American batteries fired and kept on firing. Two of the best cannon in the fort were disabled. The buildings of the college suffered, the garrison suffered more, and their morale suffered most of all, for except the engineers and gunners the men felt utterly helpless. When Santa Anna entered the rectangle unattended to reconnoitre, a shell burst near him and covered his red pony with dirt. Toward evening General Bravo, the commander of the position, came down, reported to him that the garrison were cowed, and demanded fresh troops; but Santa Anna could see no use of sending them forward to be destroyed on the way or else demoralized after arriving. They should be provided, he said, at the critical moment.[15]
Scott saw, however, as the day waned, that Huger’s expectations would not be realized—that an assault would be necessary. For this last resort preparations had in fact been made. The troops and the ladders were now ready. Fearing the Mexicans would repair the damages under cover of night he thought at first of delivering the blow at once; but he concluded that it was now too late in the day, that his guns could soon dispose of repairs and reinforcements, and that a morning attack would give many hours for pursuing the advantages gained. Engineers proceeded to mend and improve our own batteries, and the generals met for a conference. Here the plans were finally decided upon. Quitman’s division and a forlorn hope of about 265 selected officers and men from Twiggs’s division, under Captain Casey of the Second Infantry, were to advance by the Tacubaya road; and Pillow’s, preceded by a similar party from Worth’s division, led by Captain McKenzie of the Second Artillery, was to attack by way of El Molino and the grove. Then every one betook himself to his post. But Pillow felt discontented. “We shall be defeated,” said Worth privately; and even Scott admitted to Hitchcock, “I have my misgivings.”[16]
BATTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC
At daybreak—about half-past five—the next morning a signal gun broke the stillness, and then our batteries opened. For two hours or so they hurled shot and shells at the fort, and then for some thirty minutes grape, canister and shells were poured into the grove. At about eight o’clock, as if by common consent, they stopped—but only to burst forth again with new fury.[17]
That one momentary pause was the command to attack. Colonel Trousdale, with the Eleventh and Fourteenth Infantry and a section of Magruder’s field battery under the “Stonewall” Jackson of our civil war, moved some distance eastward from near El Molino by the Anzures causeway along the northern side of the rectangle, to prevent reinforcement and embarrass escape in that quarter. Lieutenant Colonel Johnston with four companies of the gray Voltigeurs advanced outside the south wall, drove the Mexicans from the redan (B) and from the wall, behind which they had been standing on platforms, passed through the opening, captured the circular redoubt (C) and the breastwork near it (D), and opened fire on the southern parapet of the fort. Reno’s howitzers, taken from El Molino eastward into the fields, poured shells upon the grove and the Mexican entrenchments (A and E). Four other Voltigeur companies under Colonel Andrews, after crossing those open fields, rushed with loud cheers into the swamp; and the Ninth and the Fifteenth Infantry, deploying into line, followed them closely. Decorated with long, hanging moss, the venerable cypresses, dear alike to Cortez and to Montezuma, seemed like the fit guardians of some mystical and melancholy religion; but now hurrahs and sharp flashes and the terrible crash of cannon-balls amidst the branches broke their shadowy silence, and the Americans, wallowing through the mire, drove the Mexican skirmishers from tree to tree, from the grove, and at last from the battle.[17]
Clearly it was time for Santa Anna to support the garrison. Attempts had been made to repair the fort during the night, but no adequate materials could be found there. A cannon had burst. The dead and wounded lay about. There were no surgeons, no medical supplies. The expected reinforcements did not appear. Most of the students, gallant lads in gray uniforms and gaily tasselled blue caps, withdrew by command. Bravo—thickset and erect, with deep eyes and a powerful chin—though he was cold and unenterprising, had flawless courage, and he stood with folded arms or marched calmly from post to post. But the infantry of the garrison—hungry, exhausted, stunned, hopeless—cowered behind the parapets. Many had to be driven to their places, and some had to be fired on. Even the engineers and gunners felt despondent.[17]
But Santa Anna could not see what to do. No doubt the hill was to be attacked from the grove, but the enemy seemed likely to assault by the Tacubaya causeway also, and Trousdale, he fancied, might come round by a road that skirted the eastern end of the rectangle to strike his rear. Besides, the officers and men showed no desire to challenge the American artillery by marching up the hill, and he understood well enough himself how few of them could probably reach the fort. At length, however, he strengthened the forces on the Tacubaya road, and sent most of the San Blas Activo battalion to Bravo. At the circular redoubt this corps met the Americans, and not many of them lived to go farther.[17]
East of the grove, Andrews with his Voltigeurs and Reno with his howitzers turned a little to the right and united with Johnston. This left the Ninth a clear front. Colonel Ransom had promised, the day before, that he and his men would go into the fort or die. Proudly erect, sword in hand, the beau-ideal of a soldier, he strode in front up the steepest part of the slope, while the Fifteenth marched on his left. The breastwork (E) was captured; and then, coming in view of the fort—its buildings almost hidden in smoke, its parapets a sheet of flame, the air filled with the hiss and shriek and roar of missiles—he waved his sword, shouted, “Forward, the Ninth!” and fell dead with a bullet in his forehead. A terrible cry rose from his men: “Ransom has fallen—the Colonel is shot!” Wild for revenge they all charged on, and a part of them reached the fosse.[17]
But there had been some mistake. The ladders had been entrusted to raw men, it was said; perhaps they had not been started off in time; apparently some of the bearers had left their places and hurried on; some had been killed and others frightened. Anyhow the ladders did not arrive. Like the Voltigeurs on their right, the Ninth and the Fifteenth sought shelter behind rocks and stumps and fired at the parapet; and the tardy storming party, which was to have passed through them, feeling no desire to get between the two lines of fire and really unable to do anything without ladders, halted.[17]