Gone to Texas Read online

  On learning that most of the royal troops at Orizaba had been withdrawn to escort a large pack train from Perote to Veracruz, Morelos marched there with eight hundred men. Against little resistance, they seized the king’s tobacco warehouse, helped themselves to all they could carry, then set fire to the rest.

  “That cuts one of the king’s purse strings,” Morelos remarked, nodding his head toward the clouds of tobacco smoke that billowed about them. Tobacco was a much resented royal monopoly.

  They returned to Tehuacán in high spirits, confident there were no royalists in the area. But the much larger pack train escort, on learning of the attack on Orizaba, had hastily marched to intercept them. Surprised, Morelos’ men quickly formed two lines, but the enemy cavalry and grenadiers drove the first line back to the second. After a fierce fight, the outnumbered rebel soldiers broke and fled, with difficulty saving most of their artillery. Ellis, along with Morelos and other officers, put spurs to their horses and escaped, with musket balls whistling about them.

  “We took a real flogging,” Ellis remarked when they reached Tehuácan.

  “That we did,” Morelos admitted, his expression grave.

  “Other than destroying the king’s tobacco, we have accomplished little this year, and the enemy grows more confident.” He paused, looking thoughtful, then continued.

  “We must strike the enemy where it hurts and give new life to our cause,” he said. “I’m going to gather our forces and take Oaxaca. But tell no one where we’re going. The enemy has spies everywhere.”

  He called in Victor Bravo and his division from the Mixteca, and the warrior priest Mariano Matamoros and his troops from Izúcar. Fighting men come in all shapes and sizes, Ellis thought. The Bravos were tall, muscular men, the sons of an hacendado. Matamoros was small and thin, with a pockmarked face and blue eyes. He had, for one his size, a surprisingly powerful voice. Morelos considered him his left arm and Hermenegildo Galeana his right arm.

  Shortly before they marched, Manuel Mier y Terán, a handsome young graduate of the School of Mines, rode up on a fine horse and offered his services. He was tall and slender, with light skin, brown hair, black eyes, and a neatly trimmed mustache. Morelos welcomed him warmly and gave him the rank of colonel of Engineers.

  Ellis, now a major of Engineers, but without any formal training, looked over his new commander wondering how, at twenty-nine, it would be to serve under an officer who couldn’t be more than twenty. Mier y Terán was obviously a member of a prominent creole family, an aristocrat accustomed to comforts. How will he react the first time he hears enemy gunfire? Ellis wondered. Then, recalling the attack on Nolan’s fort, he smiled wryly. Probably the same way I did. I didn’t quite pee my pants, but it was a close call. Mier appeared to be affable as well as intelligent, and dedicated to Mexican independence. Ellis decided to reserve judgment.

  The rebel army, now nearly five thousand strong, headed into the rugged mountains that lay between Tehuácan and Oaxaca. As his stomach protested its emptiness, Ellis plodded up the steep roads on foot, for there weren’t enough horses and mules to haul the artillery and carry sufficient provisions—all were on half-rations. As he looked around at the Mexicans from nearly every walk of life who were willingly risking their lives and sacrificing their comforts for Morelos and independence, Ellis felt warm and forgot his hunger.

  After nearly two weeks of hard-going, they descended to the fertile plains that surrounded Oaxaca on November 24. Ellis gazed in admiration at the huge fig trees, the orchards, and vineyards—Oaxaca was a garden spot. They stopped at an hacienda a few miles from the city and made camp in a field, while Morelos sent royalist commander Gonazález Saravia a demand to surrender. He refused.

  The next morning, Morelos divided his force into six columns, leaving one to guard the camp, two to cut off escape routes, and holding one in reserve. With one column, Colonel Ramón Sesma attacked the fort, which was surrounded by a moat and connected to the city by a drawbridge. Ellis and Mier each commanded an infantry company in the column under Galeana and Matamoros, who sent them to capture the gate at the Marquesado Street entrance. The two led a spirited charge and opened the gate, allowing the rest of the column to rush through it. They drove the royalists back to the plaza. Ellis no longer wondered how the youthful colonel would do under enemy fire—Mier was a bom warrior.

  In the attack on the fort, Manuel Félix Fernández, who later changed his name to Guadalupe Victoria, plunged into the moat, determined to swim across and lower the drawbridge. He was immediately bogged down in thick mud, and had to be pulled out. After two hours of fighting, the royalists hauled down their flag.

  Knowing Oaxaca was a rich enemy stronghold, the rebel troops for once ignored Morelos’ injunction against looting, and plundered the shops and homes of Spaniards. Morelos immediately ordered the political prisoners released. Ellis felt sick when he saw the wretched, half-starved men, but Morelos was outraged. He had them lifted to the backs of horses and paraded throughout the city to give the people a taste of royalist brutality. Then he ordered four of the royalist commanders shot.

  Morelos soon formed a town council of creoles, or Spanish Mexicans, and extended patriot control over the surrounding area. Mier took charge of the royalist armory, while Ellis opened a powder factory.

  In January 1813 they learned that ruthless General Calleja had been named viceroy. Early the next month, Morelos left Colonel Rocha and Ellis with one thousand troops to hold Oaxaca, and set out with the rest for Acapulco. Along the way, he sent columns under his lieutenants to seize strategic towns. He wrote that he’d taken Acapulco and besieged the Castle San Diego. Its temporary governor, he added, was a Captain Vélez. Ellis smiled grimly when he read that.

  “If I didn’t kill Carreño,” he said, “at least I put him out of action.”

  “I wish Morelos would just leave troops to pin down the garrison and get on with the campaign,” Rocha remarked, looking worried. “Every day the siege lasts means the enemy is that much stronger. The Spaniards here are boasting that Spain is sending three thousand soldiers who fought Napoleon. We should be closing in on Mexico City, not wasting time on Acapulco. That could lead to our undoing.” His expression became gloomier. “I’m not a prophet,” he said, “ but for the first time I have a bad feeling about the revolution.” Ellis said nothing, wishing Morelos would send for him.

  Chapter Five

  Ellis waited anxiously for news of Morelos. He knew that in June, while the siege of San Diego Castle went on, Morelos had invited all rebel-held provinces to send delegates to a congress in Chilpancingo in September, for Oaxaca had elected a delegate. In August news came that San Diego Castle had finally surrendered, after a siege of seven months. Morelos had granted generous surrender terms, then hurried to Chilpancingo. Ellis also heard that three thousand Spanish troops had landed at Veracruz, but his confidence in Morelos remained unshaken. Mier y Terán, he knew, had won several victories. Why do I have to stay here making gunpowder when my friends are fighting the enemy? It was frustrating.

  The next news of Morelos made a knot form in his stomach. Late in December, with a large army, Morelos had attacked Valladolid, a strategic city Rayón had tried to take earlier. Learning of his march, Calleja had rushed powerful reinforcements there, and they repulsed the patriots with heavy losses. Before they could regroup, Agustín de Iturbide slipped out after dark with three hundred cavalry. His surprise attack had thrown the patriots into such confusion they fired on one another. The royalist cavalry swept through Morelos’ camp and only the desperate resistance of his men saved him from capture. The patriot soldiers were so demoralized they fled. Unable to check their flight, the officers spiked the cannon and followed, with the enemy in hot pursuit.

  A few days later, early in January 1814, the royalists overtook them and forced them to make a stand even though they were without cannon. The royalist artillery decimated the patriot ranks, and a number of officers, including the able Matamoros, were captured.
Morelos offered to exchange two hundred Spanish prisoners for him, but the royalists took him to Valladolid and shot him. Morelos ordered Acapulco burned and abandoned after the royalists captured the forts at El Veladero. The siege had been a waste of time. Ellis groaned aloud when he read the bad news. Rocha’s fears had been justified.

  A messenger from Morelos brought a letter promoting Ellis to colonel and ordering Rocha to march with eight hundred men, leaving two hundred with Ellis and Captain Simón Méndez. “Things look bad, Elias,” Rocha said when they shook hands. “The siege gave Calleja time to destroy all rebel armies in the north; now he’s concentrating his forces on the south. When they come here, as they surely will, save your men and all the powder you can carry. Try to get it to Morelos. If he still has an army, that is,” he added.

  In March a rebel courier dashed into Oaxaca. What now? Ellis wondered, as the man’s lathered horse slid to a stop.

  “The enemy is coming,” the rider panted. “At least one thousand men, maybe more.”

  “Where is Morelos?”

  “Who knows? The last I heard he was at Apatzingán with the congress. By now he could be anywhere. Or nowhere.”

  Ellis ordered his men to pack the mules with powder and two thousand pesos, all the money available. He frowned at the sight of royalist sympathizers joyfully preparing to welcome the approaching army. With his two hundred men and the pack train, Ellis headed north, carefully avoiding the oncoming enemy column, and not stopping to rest. In the mountains they came upon a camp of nearly one hundred ragged, bearded men. Brigands by the look of them, Ellis thought. Their stocky leader approached, eying the pack train, then the soldiers.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To Morelos.” The bandit chief glanced again at the weary pack mules, and at the soldiers, who held their muskets ready. He spat.

  “You’re wasting your time,” he told Ellis. “Lots of us have given up; many more have also accepted pardons and now fight for the king. You’re as likely to be killed by former friends as by enemies. You’d do better to throw in with us.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Knocking off Spanish pack trains.”

  Ellis appeared to consider that, then shook his head. “I promised to get this powder to Morelos,” he said. “I’ve got to try.”

  The bandit leader couldn’t conceal his irritation. “Fighting is useless, I tell you,” he growled, his voice rising. “The revolution is dead. They’ll catch Morelos sooner or later, if they haven’t already.”

  “Maybe so,” Ellis admitted, “but as long as he lives there’s hope. I aim to find him.” He signalled to his men to ride on. They continued pushing hard for several days, until they rode into the village of Cuicatlán.

  An old man with a white beard arose from a bench and shuffled into the dusty street toward Ellis, who stopped his horse and leaned toward him.

  “Without asking,” the old man said quietly, “I know you are patriots.” Ellis nodded, while the other villagers stared at the soldiers and weary mules.

  “Rayón is near,” the old man continued, his voice so low it was barely audible. “The enemy are also not far away, so take care, señor. They have spies even here. Be careful who you trust.”

  “Thanks, my friend,” Ellis said softly. “I’m glad to know there’s at least one patriot army left.” He straightened in his saddle and rode on, stopping after they had crossed a stream to let the mules rest and graze. He sent scouts to watch for the enemy and a man to find Rayón.

  The man returned an hour later. “The enemy are on his trail, so he’s got to keep moving,” he reported. “They’re sure to see our tracks, too. Some of the villagers may have already gone to tell them about us. We had better get out of here pronto.”

  Ellis glanced at the tired mules dejectedly nibbling grass, and wished he hadn’t pushed them so hard. His mind raced. We’ve got two choices—run or fight. The only way we can escape is to head into the mountains, but the mules would never make it. That means we’d have to abandon all this powder. His face felt hot at the thought of the enemy gloating over his powder supply. No, by God! That won’t do. We’ll fight!

  He sent the man back to Rayón with a terse message. “I intend to make a stand. If you can’t come, send all the men you can spare.”

  Ellis ordered the packers to take the mules a mile or two ahead and let them graze. Then he and Méndez looked for a defensive position. The creek the enemy cavalry would have to cross had high banks, which meant that crossing it would take several minutes. At one side was a low rise; facing the crossing was a small hill. Ellis placed Méndez and fifty men out of sight behind the rise. “Don’t fire a shot until they’re in the creek,” he ordered. With the rest of his men he waited halfway up the low hill, in easy musket shot of the crossing. Once in the creek, the enemy would face a crossfire.

  The messenger to Rayón rode up. “How many men is he sending?” Ellis asked.

  “None. He says to save what you can and leave immediately.” Ellis cursed. He saw one of his scouts dashing up. No time to worry about Rayón now, he thought.

  “Enemy coming,” the scout shouted. “Be here in minutes.”

  Ellis waited with his men on the hillside in full view of the crossing. His mouth was dry but he felt no fear when a hundred or more cavalrymen trotted up to the creek and checked their horses. When they saw Ellis had no artillery, they laughed scornfully and brandished their lances.

  Come on! Come on! Ellis thought, fearing they might wait for infantry and artillery before attacking. But with a shout, they urged their horses down the steep bank and plunged into the stream.

  “Fire!” Ellis shouted, and his and Méndez’ men poured a deadly crossfire into the cavalry, emptying many saddles as the horses floundered in the water. Ellis pulled all of his men to the crest of the hill, where they knelt and aimed their muskets. The surviving cavalrymen spurred their mounts up the bank and came on. They met such a withering fire that halfway up the hill they broke and fled. Ellis gave a shout of triumph while his men cheered.

  They caught the riderless cavalry horses and hurried after the pack train. A few hours later, a messenger from Rayón overtook them and handed Ellis a note.

  “You must join forces with me,” Rayón had written.

  He didn’t come when I needed help, Ellis thought. He probably wouldn’t another time. Not wanting a confrontation with Rayón, he stalled.

  “Tell him I’ll meet him at the Llanos de Apán in a week,” he told the messenger, who rode away. Then Ellis and his men continued on their way, traveling slowly to spare the mules.

  Several days later, Ellis saw a rider approaching from the north, and wondered if he might be a courier. He wasn’t in uniform, which could mean that he was a patriot. Ellis and the rider eyed each other cautiously.

  “Are you an Americano?” the rider asked. Ellis nodded.

  “At least I used to be,” he said. “I’ve been here so long I’m as much Mexican as American. You’re looking for an Americano?” The man cautiously admitted that he was.

  “Patriot or royalist?”

  “Patriot,” the man said, barely above a whisper.

  “That’s what we are,” Ellis told him. The man exhaled deeply and looked relieved.

  “I guess there’s not many of us left,” Ellis added. “What’s his name?”

  “Colonel Bean.”

  “You’ve found him. Got a message for me?” The courier withdrew a letter that had been concealed under the skirt of his saddle.

  “It’s from Morelos,” he said. “I was afraid the enemy would find it and shoot me.”

  Ellis read the letter with difficulty, for although he spoke Spanish fairly well, he’d had little practice reading it.

  “My friend Elias,” it began, “we have suffered serious reverses, and many of our former friends have gone over to the enemy. One of them will probably kill me, but that’s not why I write. We now have a constitution and a congress that has declared our in
dependence. These actions make our cause respectable in the eyes of the world, even if we must hide in the mountains like wild beasts. But unless we receive help soon, I fear we cannot last much longer. I call on you for one last favor to save our cause. Go to your countrymen and persuade them, beg them if you must, to send us arms. Then get men and invade Texas, for that will draw the enemy away from us. I am counting on you not to fail. Go with God. Morelos.”

  Ellis’ hands trembled so the letter rattled. In a voice that sounded strange, he said to the courier, “Tell him I’ll do my best and that I’m on my way. Take this pack train to him.” He kept two of the mules and their loads in case he met other patriots who needed powder. The two mules brayed mournfully as the others disappeared.

  The two thousand pesos he’d brought from Oaxaca weren’t enough to buy many guns. There were, he knew, many wealthy planters around Tehuacán who respected Morelos. Leaving his men with Captain Méndez, he hurried there. Mier y Terán, now a brigadier general, greeted him warmly, then together they raised ten thousand pesos in a few days. Ellis returned to his men, then headed for the Gulf coast, anxious to be on his way to New Orleans.

  At Puente del Rey, he found the fearless Guadalupe Victoria with a few hundred men but little ammunition. Ellis gave him most of his powder. “I’d make more for you,” he told Guadalupe Victoria, “but Morelos sent me to get help in the States. I’ve got to find a ship.”

  “Go to Nautla,” Guadalupe Victoria advised him. “Philipio still holds out there, so it’s safe at least for the moment.”

  Ellis hurried to the little fishing village north of Veracruz, where the black patriot leader, Philipio, welcomed him. “Lafitte’s ships from around New Orleans put in here from time to time,” he said when Ellis told him about his mission. “I’m sure one of them will take you.”

  After anxiously scanning the horizon for five days, Ellis and Philipio saw a schooner sailing south past Nautla. Philipio studied it through a small eyeglass.