Justin H. Smith - The Mexican-American War (Vol. 1&2)

Some occupy themselves with prosaic thoughts,—business, politics or social events—and a few talk of science and poetry. Yonder goes a millionaire, a real king of gold, at sight of whom all hats come off, while all eyes court his glance; but another, who passes with a triumphant step and bold gestures, appears to the crowd a greater man, for he is the king of the sword, the king of the bull-ring, the matador . But most, perhaps, are talking and thinking of love and of pleasure. Furtive but meaning glances are often exchanged; occasionally hand presses hand under the folds of the cloak; at times a few mysterious words pass quickly; now and then one sees a pretty woman on the arm of her bold lover, showing herself proudly to the world, while the husband follows on behind as best he can; and here and there a scowling, discarded friend looks out from behind a post with a knife clutched behind him.

Would you like to see a little more? Then visit the Barrio Santa Anna, and watch men with bloodshot eyes and women in red petticoats and loose, open chemisettes dancing a wild fandango, or plunge into a lépero’s dive and watch the pariahs gambling sedately with a bloody knife on the table before them, while down in one corner a crouching woman moans and mutters over a prostrate figure. But how lightly all is done, even the tragedies, compared with northern depth and seriousness. In a sense we feel we are observing children.8

Of course in so brief a space the subject of this chapter could not be thoroughly treated, but our inquiry seems to make certain facts plain. Little in the material, mental and moral spheres was really sound in the Mexico of 1845. Her population was insufficient, and was badly welded together, so far as it had been welded at all; and while the lower orders of the people lay deep in ignorance, laziness and vice, the upper class, if we ignore exceptions, were soft, superficial, indolent and lax, urbane, plausible and eloquent, apathetic but passionate, amiable and kind though cruel when excited, generous but untrustworthy, wasteful but athirst for gain, suspicious and subtle but not sagacious, personally inclined to be pompous and nationally afflicted with a provincial vanity, greatly enamoured of the formalities of life, greatly wanting in the cool, steady resolution for which occasional obstinacy is a poor substitute, and still more wanting in that simple, straightforward, sober and solid common sense which is the true foundation of personal and national strength. In particular, the Mexican was intensely personal. This made him and his politics very interesting yet was really unfortunate, for in such men principles and institutions could have but feeble roots. Finally, as one result of this awareness of self, every man of any strength had the instincts of a dictator. Authority he instinctively resented; but on the other hand, when some one appeared to be dominant, a consciousness of this inner recalcitrancy and a fear of its being detected, combining with a hope of favors, produced adulation and apparent slavishness.

Evidently, then, Mexico was not intrinsically a strong country. Evidently her people had few qualifications for self-government. Evidently, too, they were unlikely to handle in the best manner a grave and complicated question requiring all possible sanity of judgment and perfect self-control; and, in particular, misunderstandings between them and a nation like the United States were not only sure to arise but sure to prove troublesome.

Table of Contents

It was of course the political side of Mexican civilization that had the most direct bearing on our relations with that country, and this can best be explained by approaching it historically. At the same time we shall be aided in studying, not only some of the principal figures in the war and their mutual attitudes, but some of its most important and mysterious events.

The colonial régime of Spain was intended and carefully planned to ensure the safety, prosperity and contentment of her distant subjects, but for certain reasons it worked badly. Like all nations of that period, she believed that her colonies existed for the good of the mother-country, and aimed first of all to control and exploit them. She had to depend upon very human agents that were practically beyond her reach. While theoretically all Mexicans, except the aborigines, enjoyed an equality before the law, the government felt that emigrants from the Peninsula were especially worthy of confidence; and at the same time not a few of these men had friends industriously scheming for them at court. The consequences were, first, the establishment of a powerful Gachupine oligarchy, largely dependent on the royal will, the lowest member of which, even if penniless, felt superior to every Creole, and, secondly, the enthronement of privilege, often gained by ignoble means, in government, army, church and business. The Creoles—overawed by the almost divine prestige of the king, trembling before his power, and convinced that only his troops could protect them against the Indians—submitted; but they hated their insolent oppressors, and the Indians hated both groups. On the principle of “Divide and conquer” the government fomented these dissensions; and, supported by the intolerance of the Church, it did its utmost to bar out foreigners and foreign ideas in order to ensure an unreasoning subordination. 1

What Mexico owed to Spain, therefore, aside from the remembrance and fruits of an efficiency that she could not hope to equal, was a settled tradition of arbitrary rule based on force, of authority selfishly and often corruptly used, of the government as possessing the sole initiative, of social disunion resulting from privilege and monopoly, of personal successes frequently due to intrigue or purchased favor, of political indifference except among the controlling or aspiring cliques, of apathy concerning all high interests, of ignorance, inertness, fanaticism, hard oppression, blind obedience, passionate feuds and gross pleasures. 1

Little by little new ideas reached a few of the more intelligent, however. The American Declaration of Independence became known, and also the fact that Spain, by supporting England’s rebellious colonies, had coöperated with heretics long pictured as infidels and fiends. Echoes from Diderot’s encyclopædia and reports of the French revolution crept in; and the natural desire both to share on equal terms in the offices and in business, and to escape from the extra cost of living due to the monopolies, quickened thought. When war with England led to the raising of Mexican troops, a new sense of power began to be felt; when the Spanish monarchy crumbled before Napoleon in 1808, the illusion of the king’s divinity and invincibility faded; when the royal family exhorted the Mexicans to accept the heir of the French revolution as their master, loyalty quivered to its base; and when the people of Spain took up arms to defend their betrayed nationality, the principle of popular sovereignty loomed up as greater than royal prerogatives. Finally the mass of the people, though too apathetic to realize the full meaning of these facts, were roused by a thunder-clap at home.2

Struggling with the crisis precipitated by events in the Peninsula, the viceroy—partly to gain support for himself, it is probable, and partly to gain support for the monarchy—showed a disposition to give the Creoles a voice in the government, upon which the leaders of the oligarchy were so amazingly foolish as to depose him by force, and usurp his authority. This conduct proved that much of their boasted loyalty and supposed ability had been shams, that what they really meant was to enjoy the wealth and power, that the cause of the Creoles was not one of subjects against their king, but one of subjects against subjects, and that only force could settle the issue. Dreams of independence immediately crystallized into schemes of insurrection.2