After Taylor’s capture of Monterey, the stronghold of northern Mexico, an armistice terminated hostilities till November 13th, 1846. By that time Santa Anna—who had returned to Mexico—had mustered a powerful army at San Luis Potosi, and was expected to march against Monterey. Taylor, intending to act on the defensive only, proposed to occupy a line stretching from Saltillo to Tampico, which fort had been evacuated by the Mexicans; and, in pursuance of this plan, marched on Saltillo and Victoria, and occupied them without resistance. His plans were frustrated by a requisition from General Scott depriving him of Worth and Twiggs’ divisions of regulars. Thus reduced to a force of some five thousand men—all of whom, except a few dragoons and artillery, were volunteers—Taylor was compelled to abandon his projected line, and to content himself with one stretching from Saltillo to the mouth of the Rio Grande. December, January, and part of February were spent by the army in awaiting the Mexican attack. It was known that Santa Anna would advance from San Luis to expel the invaders; his force was fairly estimated, and the wide disparity, in point of numbers, between the two armies was not concealed from the troops. Yet there was no thought of retreating; on the contrary, when Taylor determined to advance southward from Saltillo, and to occupy Agua Nueva, eighteen miles nearer the foe, the whole army marched in high spirits. It was subsequently found that the force under Taylor—including Wool’s division, which had joined the main army—was too small to hold Agua Nueva, and a retrograde movement was ordered to the pass of La Angostura, a narrow defile near the hacienda of Buena Vista. There the army awaited Santa Anna’s approach.

It was on February 22d—Washington’s birthday—that the Mexican advance made its appearance, rolling before it clouds of dust. It had suffered dreadfully on the road from San Luis from cold and want of supplies; but, allowing for these sources of loss, the army led by Santa Anna cannot have numbered less than twenty thousand men, including four thousand cavalry and twenty pieces of artillery; and the sufferings of the march made the soldiers all the more eager for the battle. Disappointed in not finding Taylor at Agua Nueva, as he had expected, Santa Anna proclaimed that he had fled, and ordered the cavalry in pursuit. The Mexicans had already had one experience of Taylor’s flights—a second was at hand. When the lancers reached the Angostura, they found the pass guarded by Washington’s battery of eight pieces, and very properly halted. The correspondence, since so famous, between the two generals then took place; and on receipt of Taylor’s laconic letter Santa Anna commenced the attack.

The advantage of position was all on the side of the United States army. The pass itself was so narrow that Washington’s battery could guard it against almost any force; impassable gullies and ravines flanked it on the west, and on the east the mountains gradually rose to a height of some two thousand feet. The only spot on which a regular battle could be fought was a plateau on the east of the pass, which stretched from the precipitous mountain-slope nearly to the road, terminating on that side in several ridges and ravines. This plateau gained, the pass might have been turned; and accordingly Santa Anna’s first thought was to master it. A strong body of light infantry was despatched, in the afternoon of the 22d, to climb the mountain-side which commanded the plateau; but the moment the manoeuvre was perceived a party of Taylor’s riflemen ascended the opposite ridge to keep them in check. The Mexicans opened fire, and the Kentuckians replied; and thus, as each body strove to overtop the other, both ridges were soon covered with smoke. Foiled in his object, Santa Anna awaited the morning to commence operations in earnest; and Taylor, fearing an attack on Saltillo, set out to complete the defences of that point during the night.

At two o’clock in the morning the American pickets were driven in, and at break of day the Mexican light infantry, on the ridge above the plateau, led by General Ampudia, commenced charging down into the ravine which separated them from the Kentuckians. They had received reinforcements during the night, and were at least eight to one. Fortunately, General Wool had anticipated the movement, and Lieutenant O’Brien was ready at the foot of the hill with a piece of cannon. A very few discharges, well-aimed, sent the Mexicans back to cover. Then the main army advanced; two columns, under Pacheco and Lombardini, supported by lancers and a twelve-pounder battery in the rear, marching directly toward the plateau, and a third moving against the pass. Wool had disposed the army almost in a line across the plateau from the pass to the mountain: Washington’s battery being on the right, and O’Brien’s on the left wing, the infantry and a squadron of dragoons in the centre, and the volunteer cavalry inclined slightly to the rear on the right and left. About nine in the morning Pacheco’s column debouched from a ravine and began to form coolly on a ridge of the plateau. General Lane hastened forward, skirting the mountains with the Second Indiana volunteers and O’Brien’s battery, to meet them. At two hundred yards O’Brien opened with terrific effect; the close columns of the Mexicans were ploughed by his shot. But the reply was steady and almost equally effective. Raked on the left by the twelve-pounder battery, and assailed by a storm of bullets from the masses rising out of the ravine, the volunteers fell thickly round their colors, and, after some minutes, the Indiana volunteers could stand it no longer, and fled in spite of Lane’s efforts to rally them.134 O’Brien was left almost alone with his guns. He fired one last discharge, then, hastily limbering up, followed the flying infantry over the plateau.

It was an almost fatal movement; for, Lombardini gaining the southern edge of the plateau at that moment, the two Mexican columns united, and the lancers, who swarmed on the flanks, galloped down on the volunteers. To add to the danger, the Indiana regiment in its flight became entangled with the Arkansas volunteers, who caught the panic and fled likewise. Their loss in a fight where the enemy was over four to one was severely felt. However, nothing daunted, the Second Illinois, under Colonel Bissell, received the Mexican fire, and returned it as fast as the men could load. The dragoons, who could do no service in such a conflict, were sent to the rear; but a couple of guns, under Trench and Thomas, were brought to bear, and every shot cut like a knife through the Mexican columns. Still, it was impossible for such a handful of men to check an army of thousands: the enemy poured down the plateau, and, passing between the mountain and the Illinoisans, turned our left and poured in a flank as well as a front fire. Eighty men having fallen in twenty minutes, Colonel Bissell gave the word of command to face to the rear, and the gallant regiment, as cool as if on drill, faced about, marched deliberately a few yards toward the ravine—Churchill walking his horse before them—then turned and resumed firing.

Meanwhile the lancers were driving the Indiana and Arkansas volunteers off the plateau, and cutting off the riflemen in the mountain from the main army. These, perceiving the danger, and trusting that the lancers would be checked by the Arkansas and Kentucky cavalry, toward which they were approaching, abandoned their position and came running down the mountain-side, with a view of cutting their way back to the batteries. But the mounted volunteers made but a brief stand against the impetuous charge of the lancers, and Ampudia’s light infantry no sooner saw the riflemen move than they followed close on their heels, firing as they went. The slaughter of our poor fellows was dreadful; the Texans were annihilated. In one confused mass, riflemen and volunteer cavalry, Arkansans and Kentuckians were driven back by the advancing columns of the enemy, and little was wanted to complete the rout. Vainly did the officers try to rally the fugitives. No sooner had a handful of men been persuaded to halt and turn than a volley from the Mexicans scattered them. Thus fell Captain Lincoln—a chivalrous spirit, who was struck to the earth by two balls in the act of cheering on a small party of Kentuckians to hold their ground.

At this perilous moment the rattle of musketry was drowned by a tremendous roar pf cannon in the direction of the pass. The Mexicans under Villamil had approached within range, and Captain Washington, who had sworn to hold the pass against any odds, was keeping his word. The gunners had been wild with ardor and suspense all morning; they were now gratified, and, though three guns had been taken from the battery, they poured such a murderous fire upon Villamil’s column as it approached through the narrow pass that, after wavering a moment, it scattered, and most of the men sought refuge in the ravines. The moment they broke the Second Illinoisans, who had been stationed at the pass, eagerly followed their colonel, Hardin, to the plateau, to share the dangers of their comrades. Almost as soon McKee’s Kentuckians and Bragg’s battery came plunging through the gullies on the west of the pass and joined them; while Sherman’s guns were speedily brought up from the rear. Thus the First Illinoisans were saved, and grape and canister mowed down the Mexican masses at the foot of the mountain.

Still, the light infantry under Ampudia were pressing on by the left to the rear of Wool’s position. In half an hour the pass might have been turned. Most providentially at that moment Taylor arrived with Davis’ Mississippi riflemen and May’s dragoons. The former barely stopped an instant for the men to fill their canteens, then hastened to the field. Boiling with rage, Davis called on the Indiana volunteers to form “behind that wall,” pointing to his men, and advance against their enemy. Their colonel, Bowles, the tears streaming down his face, finding all his appeals fruitless, seized a musket and joined the Mississippians as a private. Time could not be lost; Ampudia was close upon them; Davis formed and advanced with steady tread against a body more than five times his strength. A rain of balls poured upon the Mississippians, but no man pulled a trigger till sure of his mark. Then those deadly rifles blazed and stunned the Mexican advance. A ravine separated them from the enemy; Davis gave the word, and, with a cheer, down they rushed and up the other side; then forming hastily, with one awful volley they shattered the Mexican head and drove them back to cover.

But the cavalry had crept round the mountain and were descending on the hacienda. They were Torrejon’s brigade, splendid fellows, mostly lancers, and brimful of fight. Opposed to them were Yell’s Arkansas and Marshall’s Kentucky mounted volunteers—less than half their number. Hopelessly these brave fellows stood, firing their carbines as the foe approached; but the last man was still taking aim when the lancers were upon them like a whirlwind. The brave Yell was dashed to the earth a corpse, and Lieutenant Vaughan fell from his horse, pierced by twenty-four wounds. Huddled together in a confused mass, Mexicans and Americans dashed side by side toward the hacienda, engaged in a death-struggle as they galloped onward, and enveloped in a cloud of dust. One tall Mexican was seen, mounted upon a powerful horse, spearing every one that came within reach, in the drunkenness of battle; while here and there a Kentuckian, with native coolness, loaded as he rode, and brought down man after man. In less time than it takes to read these lines the horses’ hoofs were rattling over the streets, shrieks and shouts heralding their approach. Amid the din, the crack of rifles from the roofs of the houses told that the little garrison were holding their own. Through and through the hacienda the Mexicans swept, disengaging themselves from the volunteers just in time to escape a charge from May’s dragoons, which came clattering down the ravine to the rescue. Reynolds followed with two pieces of flying artillery, and Torrejon himself, badly wounded and minus several of his best men, was glad to escape to the mountains.

Meanwhile Major Dix had snatched the colors of the Second Indiana volunteers from the hands of their bearer, and bitterly swore that, with God’s help, that standard should not be disgraced that day. “He would bear it alone,” he said, “into the thick of the fight.” Roused by his words, a few men rallied around him and joined the Mississippi rifles on the plateau. The gallant Third Indiana were there, and Sherman had brought up a howitzer. Enraged at the failure of the attack on the hacienda, a fresh body of lancers now charged these troops, advancing in close column, knee to knee, and lance in rest. In breathless haste the volunteers were thrown across the narrow ridge, in two lines, meeting at an angle near the centre. Not a whisper broke the silence as the Mexicans approached, and the intrepid bearing of men whom nothing could have saved from destruction if the charge had been vigorous appalled the lancers. Within eighty yards of the lines they actually halted. At that instant the rifles were raised: a second—an awful second—elapsed. Then “Fire!” and a blaze ran round the angle. The Mexican column was destroyed. Horses and men writhed on the plain. The rear rank stood for a moment, but a single discharge from the howitzer scattered them too, and they fell back. For the first time during the day fortune seemed to favor the Americans. Hemmed in on two sides, and driven to the base of the mountain, five thousand Mexicans, horse and foot, with Ampudia’s division, were being slaughtered by nine guns, which never slackened fire. Their fate was certain; when a flag of truce from Santa Anna induced Taylor to silence his batteries. It was only a ruse. Santa Anna asked, “What does General Taylor want?” Before the answer reached him, the Mexicans had made good their escape to the rear.

Notwithstanding the parley, one Mexican battery continued its fire upon our troops. This was the eighteen and twenty-four pounder battery of the battalion of San Patricio, composed of Irishmen, deserters from our ranks, and commanded by an Irishman named Riley. Harassed by this fire, and perceiving the enemy’s treachery, Taylor sent the Illinoisans and Kentuckians, with three pieces of artillery, in pursuit of Ampudia. They hurried forward along the heads of the ravines; but to their horror, as they neared the southern edge of the plateau, an overwhelming force of over ten thousand men, comprising the whole of Santa Anna’s reserve, emerged from below and deployed before their firing. To resist was madness. The volunteers discharged their pieces and rushed precipitately into the nearest gorge. Its sides were steep, and many rolled headlong to the bottom. Others were massacred by a shower of bullets poured from Mexicans who clustered on both ridges above. In the midst of the carnage, Hardin, McKee, and many other brave officers fell, vainly trying to seek an exit for their troops. At the mouth of the ravine a squadron of lancers were ready to cut off their escape. Down the sides poured the Mexican infantry, slaughtering the wounded with the bayonet and driving the helpless mass before them. Above, pale as death, with compressed lips, O’Brien and Thomas stood to their deserted pieces. Once before that morning the Mexican shot had left the former alone at his gun; for the second time the fortune of the day seemed to depend on his single exertions. If he could hold the enemy at bay for a few minutes, there would be time for other batteries to come up. Ball after ball tore ragged gaps through the advancing host. After each discharge O’Brien fell back just far enough to load and fire again, praying in an agony that help might come. He was wounded himself; all his men were killed or wounded; but he never flinched before the surging wave of Mexicans until the clack of whips and the rattle of wheels were heard behind him. Then—for he knew it was Bragg urging onward his jaded horses—the brave fellow aimed one deadly volley of canister and abandoned his piece. The next moment Bragg unlimbered and opened a telling fire. Sherman followed, and, Davis and Lane coming up at a run, the crack of rifles was heard away to the extreme left. On the right, the well-known roar of Washington’s guns startled the foe. It was the death-warrant of the lancers, who were penning our volunteers in the ravine. Out came the remnant, leaving crowds of dead, and not one man wounded, in the horrid trap, and hastily scaled the side of the plateau. Taylor was there, coolly picking the balls out of his dress, and Wool rode wildly backward and forward, urging on the rear ranks. But it was needless. At Bragg’s third discharge the whole body of the Mexicans broke and dashed pell-mell into the ravine whence they had come.

This was the last of the battle. Davis and Bragg followed the enemy a short distance; but the San Patricio battery still commanded the southern edge of the plateau, and the troops were so fagged that they could hardly walk. Night was coming on, and the firing ceased. The men lay down where they stood; and a few, overcome by fatigue, slept side by side with the dead and the wounded. It was a dark, gloomy night, and a bitter wind swept from the mountain. Not far in the distance the wolf’s howl broke dismally on the ear, and the vultures flapped their wings overhead. Nothing was known of the Mexican army; no one could say what the morrow might bring forth. With anxious eye the officers looked for the dawn.

It came at last; and to their inexpressible delight the first streaks of light in the eastern sky revealed a deserted camp. The Mexicans had fled. An army of over twenty thousand men, comprising the flower of the Mexican troops, had been beaten by forty-six hundred Americans, over four thousand of whom were raw volunteers. Such a cheer as rose from the pass of Angostura on that February morning never before or since re-echoed through the dark gorges of the Sierra Madre.