The Men Who War the Star: The Story of the Texas Rangers (19 page)

The Rangers paused and rested on a bluff where rancher and speculator Henry Clay Davis was already laying out town lots for what would become Rio Grande City on land belonging to his Mexican wife. Late that afternoon, they picked up a broad Indian war trail. Over the next several days, they came across deserted Mexican ranches, their people having fled across the river to escape the Indians. Lieutenant McMullen and several others took a dugout across the river and brought back several Mexicans, who described the raids and gave the route they believed the Indians had taken. Following it, they came to a ranch where the Comanches had killed the cattle, stolen horses, and carried off a young woman and several children.

Some of the local Mexicans informed the Rangers that the Indians had crossed the river nearby, so McCulloch led his men across and down to Mier, where they requisitioned rations from the local
alcalde.
For some of the Rangers, the city brought back memories. “All the most notable points of the battle-ground were pointed out to us by Lieut. McMullen, who was in the fight, and who . . . shared all the horrors of Mexican captivity,” Reid wrote.

There seemed to be more nostalgia than bitterness. Now that they were conquerors rather than prisoners, the Texans found Mier to be a pleasant town, and the people seemed genuinely friendly. Learning that the Comanches had swept through the area and turned back toward the northwest, McCulloch decided it was useless to continue pursuit and ordered his men back to Camargo. “It was with not little reluctance that we were compelled to leave so pleasant a spot,” Reid remarked.
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Chapter 6

Glory and Infamy

Throughout August 1846, Taylor assembled his forces at Camargo
and started them by stages into the Mexican interior. By late in the month, the U.S. vanguard had occupied the sixteenth-century city of Cerralvo, where the Monterrey road enters the foothills of the sierras, and on September 5, it was joined by McCulloch’s and Gillespie’s Ranger companies. More Ranger units arrived, but often they were understrength, because the six-month enlistments had begun to expire among the companies recruited the previous spring. Nevertheless, those who remained were ready for a fight, and while they waited for orders to advance into the Mexican interior, they passed the time roasting coffee for the coming march, straightening their gear, arranging pack saddles, and cleaning their firearms. Off hours were spent bathing in the nearby river lined with ancient cypress trees or at dances in town.¹

On September 11, Taylor began marching the army out of Cerralvo toward Monterrey in sections at one-day intervals. Pioneers went ahead to prepare the road through the rocky, broken country for wagons and artillery. The two Texas mounted regiments came together under command of Governor Henderson, who was serving as a volunteer major general, and rode parallel to the main column while individual Ranger units from the regiments scouted toward Monterrey.²

After three days on the march, McCulloch with a detachment of thirty-five men crossed the trail of about two hundred Mexican lancers. He divided his men and hit the Mexicans with fifteen men, while the other Rangers stirred up dust in the hills beyond, giving the impression that McCulloch’s small group was the advance of a much larger force. After a few shots were exchanged, wounding one Texas horse, the Mexicans retreated.³

On September 18, the army halted at the town of Marin, only a short distance outside Monterrey. At sunrise the next morning, Taylor personally accompanied the two Texas regiments to have a look at the city. James Holland, whose diary indicated mutual animosity between the Texans and General Taylor, remarked, “Texas went ahead today—now that danger is expected old Taylor has put us in front.”
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The Rangers were excited and hurried their horses forward. About 9
A.M.
, they came to a broad plain leading into the city only two miles from a massive citadel that the Americans dubbed “the Black Fort.” Suddenly they saw the flash of a cannon from the citadel and heard the whistle of a ball that bounced onto the ground nearby.
⁵

For the Texans this was a challenge, carried over from Indian fights in which Rangers and Comanches might ride against each other, breaking off at the last minute, each daring the other to respond. They rode up close to the citadel, zigzagging to avoid the shot, defying the gunners, and timing their moves to when the gunners were shifting their pieces to compensate for range or direction.
⁶

“Many of their balls were directed very well—yet no one was hurt,” Holland wrote. “It was cheering to see how The Texians greeted the Mexican Balls—Every fire was met with a hearty response of 3 cheers and such waving of hats and huzzaing Genl T says he never heard—The Texians proved their spunk by the utter carelessness with which the[y] Rec[eive]d the Enemy’s shot—They whizzing by us in all directions. . . .”
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Taylor recalled the Texans and withdrew to a grove of trees that the Americans dubbed Walnut Springs, where the army bivouacked while Ad Gillespie accompanied engineers to reconnoiter the city. Monterrey was laid out in Hispano-Roman fashion with streets at right angles to each other, extending out in regular squares from a main plaza. The houses were of stone with flat roofs, making each a potential fort. Two real forts, the Teneria (Tannery) and the Diablo (Devil), covered the road Taylor would use, and the whole was dominated by the Black Fort. Across the city were two heights, Independence Hill, defended by the fortified Bishop’s Palace, and Federation Hill. These covered the road beyond Monterrey to Saltillo. The Mexicans, however, had made the mistake of fortifying all these strong points, so their forces were too strung out to support each other and, with careful planning by the Americans, could be cut off and reduced piecemeal.
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THE TEXANS RESUMED
their games the next morning, September 20. This time, however, they added a new twist, actually riding up to the Mexican lines to see if they could take prisoners. An army surgeon, Dr. E. K. Chamberlain, remembered them as “very venturesome, and, advancing within the range of their [the Mexicans’] hottest fire, picked out, from under their forts and barricades, many prisoners.”
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The struggle for Monterrey began at two o’clock that afternoon, when Taylor ordered General Worth’s division to move on the city. Jack Hays and the First Texas took the lead, followed by U.S. troops. Pioneers had to hack a path through the dense brush for artillery, and progress was slow. They covered only seven miles before Worth ordered the main column to halt and went ahead with Hays and about fifty Rangers. A cornfield was off to one side, and Hays spotted a Mexican detachment working through the field trying to get behind them. He ordered most of his men to dismount in the corn, then sent McCulloch with another group to form a decoy. The Mexican cavalry chased them deep into the field.

Meanwhile, the batteries on Independence Hill opened fire, and the Texans’ horses, unaccustomed to shell explosions, became unmanageable. Sam Reid was pitched out of his saddle and hung his foot in a stirrup, holding on to the horse’s mane for dear life while the animal galloped blindly for about a hundred yards, until Reid could pull himself back up again. Another Ranger was thrown to the ground just as the Mexican cavalry came charging up. Lieutenant McMullen rode back, swung him onto his own horse, and dashed off just in time. The Mexicans were now on top of Hays’s concealed men, who rose up and fired into them at point-blank range. The startled Mexican smilled about in confusion, and Hays and Worth began to retreat to the safety of the division. Night was falling, and Worth went into camp, poised for the assault on the city.
¹⁰

He started at sunrise, with Hays again in the lead. The objective was Independence Hill and the fortified Bishop’s Palace. The morning was foggy, and Gillespie and Big Foot Wallace took advantage of the cover to scout up close to the base of the hill under the walls. Before they could withdraw, the fog lifted and a Mexican sentry fired on them. The heavy musket ball struck the lock of Gillespie’s pistol and split, one half going completely through him. Wallace carried him to the rear.
¹¹

The main body of Texans were almost to the hill when they encountered Mexican infantry and cavalry, and Hays deployed his men as skirmishers. As they moved ahead, Mexican gunners opened up from Federation Hill, and the shot fell in the midst of the American forces. A Ranger positioned in a tree with cannon balls flying around him reported that the Mexican infantry showed no sign of moving, then asked if he could come down.

“No, sir. Wait for orders,” Hays replied and promptly forgot about the man.

Soon the Texans were ordered to withdraw. Reminded that the Ranger was still in the tree, Hays shouted, “Holloa, there—where are the Mexicans?”

“Going back up the hill,” the Ranger reported, not knowing who had asked the question.

“Well, hadn’t you better come down from there?”

“I don’t know,” the Ranger said. “I am waiting for orders!”

“Well, then, I
order
you down.”

Realizing now that it was Hays, the Ranger came down without waiting to be told twice.
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THE FIGHT FOR
the Bishop’s Palace was long and bloody. One eyewitness remembered:

The Texan Rangers are the most desperate men in battle that I ever heard of. They charged up to the breastworks, dismounted, and rushed over on foot, with sword in hand. . . . [Ranger Samuel W. Chambers] got over the breastworks, obtained a foothold on a thirteen-pounder, and deliberately took aim with his ‘five-shooter,’ firing with great effect and cursing the Mexicans, until the piece was taken by Gen. Worth and turned on the city. Chambers escaped without a wound.
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The Mexicans fought desperately as the Americans forced their way into the palace. In the great hall, fighting was hand-to-hand. “Steel clashed against steel, muskets came down on heads with a sickening ‘thud,’ scattering brains and blood,” according to one account. Finally the Mexican defenders had enough. As their truce team approached, Big Foot Wallace aimed his gun at the officer carrying the white flag. “Lieutenant,” a U.S. officer called, “don’t you know a parley when you hear it blowed?”

“No!” Wallace snapped. “Not when I am in front of that man.” He marched over to the Mexican officer and demanded to know if he would like to hold a bean lottery. Without giving the man time to answer, Big Foot held up his hand. “Look at that hand. Do you know it? Ever see it before?”

When the Mexican said he hadn’t, Big Foot fumed, “Yes, you did, and called up others to look at it.”

The officer now realized he was facing a survivor of the drawing he had supervised at Hacienda Salado. Wallace remembered that he hung his head “like a coyote.”
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That night, the soldiers rested in the hard-won palace.

There were many strange weird scenes in the old, gloomy building . . . groups of savage looking Rangers were gathered around the fires relating stirring tales of adventures with Commanches, Mexicans and wild animals, while others were engaged in gambling with the spoils obtained from the dead, while others were watching by the side of some wounded comrade, the fires throwing their shadders in gigantic proportions on the huge columns and walls.
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Among the wounded was Gillespie, his intestines torn open by the bullet fragment. He lived twenty-two hours in agony from pain and thirst. Finally morphine was administered and, in Wallace’s words, “he died easy.”
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THE BATTLE FOR
Monterrey raged for three more days. By September 23 the defenses around the city had fallen and the veterans of Wood’s Second Texas, accustomed to fighting in cities like San Antonio and Mier, led the assault into the center of town. A thunderstorm broke, and the dismounted Rangers ran up the streets in pouring rain, startling both the American regulars and the Mexican defenders.

“They did not understand such bold movement,” Holland wrote. “When we got in possession of the houses—pick them from the housetop to housetop and such fun you never did see—the greatest danger we encountered was in crossing the streets—the hotest [
sic
] place you ever saw.”
¹⁷

Ranger James Buckner (Buck) Barry remembered using crowbars and sledgehammers to punch holes in stone walls to move from one house to the next.

Often there was only a single wall between the Texans and Mexicans, so as soon as the Texans battered a hole through the wall the Mexicans would commence shooting at random through it. It was nothing strange for the muzzles of the Texans’ and Mexicans’ guns to clash together, both intending to shoot through the hole at the same time.
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The hand-to-hand fighting continued throughout the night and into the next morning, when Taylor ordered U.S. forces to withdraw so that he could bombard the city. The Ranger captains were outraged. They had already taken a good portion of Monterrey, and to them it was senseless to give it up now. They held their positions, keeping down to avoid the American shells falling into their midst. Amazingly, no Texan was hurt, and they remained in place until that night, when a cease-fire was arranged while the commanders of the two sides negotiated a truce.
¹⁹

Monterrey was surrendered on the morning of September 25, and the Americans settled down for occupation. Despite the efforts of U.S. authorities, one officer noted “many riots and murders occurred, which were not only disgraceful to the participators, but to the American name.” He blamed them on “a few evil-disposed volunteers, for whom the weak discipline of that arm had no terror.” General Taylor found it convenient to blame the Texans because, although there is no evidence that they were particularly guilty, they were independent and insubordinate. Consequently, on October 2, when several more Ranger companies reached the end of their six-month enlistments, took their discharges, and began going home in small groups, Taylor was glad to see them go. Reporting to Adjutant General Jones in Washington, he wrote, “With their departure we may look for a restoration of quiet and order in Monterey [
sic
], for I regret to report that some shameful atrocities have been perpetrated by them since the capitulation of the town.” To replace these Rangers, he authorized former Texas president Lamar, a veteran of the War of Independence, to raise a mounted company of eighty twelve-month Ranger volunteers.
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