The conflict with Mexico came to pass as logically as a thunderstorm. At the beginning of her independent existence our people felt earnestly and enthusiastically anxious to maintain cordial relations with our sister republic, and many crossed the line of absurd sentimentality in that cause. Friction was inevitable, however. The Americans were direct, positive, brusque, angular and pushing; and they could not understand their neighbors on the south. The Mexicans were equally unable to fathom our good-will, sincerity, patriotism, resoluteness and courage; and certain features of their character and national condition made it far from easy to get on with them.[1]

Though generally amiable and often brilliant or charming, they lacked common sense, principle, steadiness and knowledge of the world. They were passionate, suspicious, over-subtle, self-confident and fond of gamblers’ risks. They regarded firmness on our part as arrogance, and kindness as debility. Their policy was defined by the Mexico correspondent of the London Times as a compound of Spanish intrigue and Indian cunning, dominated—it might have been added—by provincial vanity and sensitiveness. They scarcely possessed the character of a nation. The whole period from 1822 to 1848 has been classified by their National Museum as a period of anarchy. Their international duties were not recognized. Unscrupulous factions and usurpers used foreign relations as the shuttlecocks of selfish schemes. Pride, said their own statesman, J. F. RamÍrez, forbade them to treat on the necessary basis of mutual consideration and concession, and insisted upon either complete victory or the consolation of having yielded to irresistible force, while procrastination put off the settlement of issues until the proper time for adjusting them had passed.[2]

WHY MEXICO WAS DEFEATEDThen between us and this difficult people arose the extraordinarily complicated question of Texas. It was characteristic of Mexico to deny the justice of the Texan revolt on the ground that settlers in her territory were bound to accept the political will of the country; but it was futile. “Nobody will be argued into slavery,” said Burke; and this was peculiarly true when the proffered slavery did not in truth represent the will of the country, and was more capricious, cruel and injurious than the rÉgime against which the Mexicans themselves had rebelled. Our recognition of Texas not only was founded on just reasons, but was concurred in by the leading powers of Europe. The annexation of that republic meant the wise and unforced incorporation of a free people, independent both by right and in fact, after Mexico had practically abandoned all expectation of its becoming once more a part of that nation, and entertained little hope save to gratify a stubborn pride at the expense of Texas and the rest of the world.[3]

Her treatment of Texans and Americans violated the laws of justice and humanity, and—since there was no tribunal to punish it—laid upon the United States, both as her nearest neighbor and as an injured community, the duty of retribution. In almost every way possible, indeed, she forced us to take a stand. She would neither reason nor hearken to reason, would not understand, would not negotiate. Compensation for the loss of territory, in excess of its value to her, she knew she could have. Peace and harmony with this country she knew might be hers. But prejudice, vanity, passion and wretched politics inclined her toward war; her overrated military advantages, her expectations of European aid, the unpreparedness of the United States, and in particular the supposed inferiority of Taylor and his army encouraged her; and she deliberately launched the attack so long threatened.

As was just and natural, Mexico primarily owed her failure in the war to the characteristics that led her into it. From a strictly military point of view her case was not precisely hopeless. Intrinsically the rank and file of her armies, though not by nature warlike, had courage enough, and possessed an extraordinary degree of that willingness to endure fatigue and hardship, which Napoleon deemed still more important. They were more frugal and obedient than our men; and while the lack of moral and physical strength, discipline and confidence in one another and their officers made them shrink from the American bayonet and the fixed American eye behind it, they bore infantry and artillery fire as well as we did, if not better. Many engineers proved themselves excellent; many artillery officers were brave and efficient; and hence there was no reason why the infantry and cavalry might not have been well handled.

But the military point of view was by no means the only one to be considered. The want of public virtue had filled the army with miserable officers, the legislative halls with dishonest, scheming, clashing politicians, and the whole nation with quarreling factions and wrathful, disheartened people, secretly thankful to find their oppressors, whom they could not punish themselves, punished by the Americans. The hungry and beaten conscript went into battle sure that if wounded he would starve, if killed he would be devoured by the birds, and should neither accident occur he would simply drudge on as before; and the industrious, useful citizen understood, that if he should help the leaders of the nation by paying contributions, he would then have to fatten them by paying again. “We are saved by hope,” wrote the great Apostle, and the nation saw no hope. Primarily Mexico was defeated because she did not fight; and she did not fight because she had nothing to fight for. The military class, who had long pretended to be the nation, was given a chance to prove its claim, and the poor wretches who could be forced into the ranks had to support it; but the people in general, holding aloof to a great extent, said in effect, “Thou who hast consumed all the revenues without giving anything in return, thou for whom we have sacrificed so much, thou who hast used our own blood to make thyself master instead of servant—may the woe thou hast so long inflicted on us fall now on thee!”[4]

Santa Anna, the logical hero of such a nation, was also its logical scourge—a statesman unable to guide, a general unfitted to command, a leader qualified only to win revolutions, lose battles, and alternate between dictatorship and exile. Some observers—even American officers—impressed by the imposing front that he reared time after time, felt that he was a great man. Unquestionably he gathered troops and resources as no other Mexican of the time could have done. No doubt his lunge into the north and his defence of the capital were remarkable; and one could not complain of him, as did Tacitus of a Roman commander, that he was unable to harangue his army. He certainly did many things.[5]

But he did few things well. His achievements were the temporary triumphs of autocratic will-power. He suffered always from an essential want of capacity. He did not understand the Americans, and fancied that one defeat would cow us. He did not even understand his fellow-citizens, and could not realize that his long course of misconduct, and finally his negotiations with Mackenzie, had cut the root of confidence. A proclamation that sounded eloquent, he felt must be convincing. The impossibility of controlling the factional politics of such a country and also managing a war without the support of the nation—of riding two such horses at the same time—lay beyond his comprehension. Often his policy was like that of the man who ruins his constitution with drugs in order to cure a local ailment. Even his apparently noble decisions grew out of selfishness and rang hollow.

To his mind a collection of men was an army. Personal aims and feelings, instead of sound policy and the demands of discipline, controlled mostly his relations with officers. Because a revolutionary band could be held together by the hope of plunder, he imagined that a campaign could be waged on that basis. Because he thought it would be natural for the enemy to attack him in a certain way, he concluded positively that no other attack would be made. Strategy he did not attempt. And when it came to the direction of a battle, owing to ignorance and intellectual disqualifications, he lacked the quickness of perception and rapidity of combination that were essential to success. For the same reasons his total strength was never focused at the vital time and place, and a defeat became a rout.[6]

This is what a final glance at the Mexicans reveals; and now, to conclude the whole investigation, we should take a summary view of our own side.

THE AMERICAN CONGRESS

While the Congress of the United States did not approach that of Mexico in badness, there was too much resemblance. One should always remember that among the people who really make up the world and keep it going perfection is, and is likely to be, somewhat rare; but for an elect body our Congress fell below all reasonable expectations. The comedy of its political manoeuvres was only surpassed by the tragedy of them. Amos Kendall said, after the hostilities began, “There can be no peace with that people [the Mexicans] but through victory or with dishonor,” and any person of judgment could see this; yet prejudices, passions and interests prevented many from honestly supporting a national war, and turned not a few into virtual enemies of their country. Markoe wrote from Vera Cruz with reference to Clay, Webster, Gallatin and others of their school, “These great men have by their speeches done more to prevent peace than though they had each of them severally arrayed 10,000 Mexicans against Scott”; and when one recalls the expense and bloodshed that would almost certainly have been spared this country and Mexico had our government felt at liberty to spend with decent liberality in meeting Scott’s requisitions promptly, patience itself takes fire.[7]

To think of giving him so small an army that the Mexicans felt positively ashamed to yield! And then to reflect how politics went into the army itself, endangering the lives of men and the fortunes of the country through unfit appointments. “How we have been gulled and led about,” exclaimed a soldier, “by a set of political demagogues, who, regardless of the fearful responsibility, have forced themselves into positions they possess no qualifications to fill, with a hope thereby to promote their future political aggrandizement!” We recall, even though we do not endorse, the Frenchman who observed, “The more I see of the representatives of the people, the more I love my dogs”; and we also recall the opinion of a British king: “Politics are a trade for a rascal, not for a gentleman.”[8]

The President showed himself a small man, but the saying of La Rochefoucauld comes to mind: “We may appear great in an employment beneath our merit, but we often appear little in ones too great for us.” The situation in which Polk, essentially a local politician from Tennessee, found himself—called upon to re-make the fiscal system of the country, to dispose of long-standing and now critical issues with Great Britain and Mexico, to cope with a factious and unscrupulous opposition in Congress, and to face a war in a foreign land, almost unknown to us, with a handful of regulars commanded by Whigs—was extremely difficult; but he steered his course firmly to the end, set an example of honest, faithful administration, established a fiscal system under which the country enjoyed a period of great prosperity, effected with England an adjustment that in essence had been refused, enjoyed a series of uniform triumphs in the field, and obtained from our enemy the peace and the territory he desired.[9]

Indeed, he achieved a still more surprising triumph, for he disproved the favorite American axiom: “Nothing succeeds like success.” His lack of commanding qualities, his inability to win admiration and sympathy, and his resorting to small methods because he lacked the power to wield great ones, made him seem legitimate prey. He became the dog with a bad name, for which any stick or stone was good enough. Other men in public life could misrepresent the facts—as many were doing all the time—and still be honored; but if Polk “put the best foot forward,” if he allowed men to draw inferences from their wishes, if—wittingly or not—he colored things, if—even by accident—he made an incorrect statement, he was promptly denounced as a villain.

And when he had supported his tremendous burden loyally, if not with Éclat; when denunciations had failed, threats crumbled, taunts miscarried, hostile predictions fallen to the ground; when our people had not risen up against the war, our treasury had not collapsed, our armies had not withered away; when our sword had been wielded with honor, our territory and commercial field been extended far to the west, our international status been elevated—after all these triumphs the bitter tongue of a partisan spit out on the floor of our national House the famous nickname, “Polk the Mendacious,” the President left office under a leaden cloud of disparagement and contempt, and later authors delighted to dip their pens in the gall of his enemies. Truly, however little we feel inclined to go into raptures over Polk, we can admire his traducers even less.

GENERAL TAYLOR

Next, in view of the civil as well as military fame gained from the war by Taylor, one thinks of him. In reviewing his operations we must beware of judging him by mere professional standards, for he was more, as well as less, than a technical soldier. The most essential qualities for a general, says the Baron de Jomini, are physical and moral courage; and in these respects the head of our army of occupation was flawless. Indeed almost all the moral qualifications of an eminent commander were his. He was a born fighter and born leader. He could think best in danger and excitement. He could inspire confidence and win devotion. The fact that one so plain could be a paladin made even the ordinary feel capable of heroism. Like all undisciplined men of great force he possessed large reserves of strength, and when an emergency stimulated these, he displayed a power that compelled those on the ground to imitate and those at a distance to admire him.[10]

On the other hand, most of the intellectual qualifications of the commander were largely wanting. To be sure he possessed a great deal of practical shrewdness, and he used moral force with a broad sort of calculation that enabled him to produce effects which a mere educated soldier could scarcely have obtained. But he did not understand the aims or the art of war, lacked initiative, failed in prevision, neglected preparation, ignored details, took little care to gather information, misunderstood the intentions of the enemy, and underestimated their strength. He preferred swinging an axe at a door to conducting the battle sagaciously from a distance. He would chat with soldiers about home, and then sacrifice their lives.

His “victories” made him famous, but the true test of generalship, observes Henderson, is “the number of mistakes”; and every stage of Taylor’s progress was marked with grave errors. Besides, “however brilliant an action may be,” remarks La Rochefoucauld, “it ought not to pass for great when it is not the result of a great design”; and not only were none of Taylor’s exploits deliberately planned, but he never understood the risks he was braving. Some ironical but loving god seemed to attend him. The life he carelessly, improvidently ventured was guarded; and insubordination, both toward the President and toward the general-in-chief, made him the successor of the first and the superior of the second. “Old Zack is the most lucky man alive,” said Colonel Campbell.[11]

GENERAL SCOTT

Scott, however, was of course the pre-eminent commander. In war he felt at home. He “is a Soldier and a General from the ground up,” wrote Consul Parrott after watching his operations. With the possible exception of Molino del Rey, the petulant indiscretion that he sometimes exhibited in civil affairs did not affect his conduct in the field. To appreciate him, “to know him at all,” said Trist, one had to see him in the military sphere. Karl von Grone, who observed him at work, wrote: “He is quiet, reserved, reflective. When, after mature consideration of the circumstances, he has formed his decision, he goes with strong, sure steps to his goal. He can manage with scanty resources, is adroit in deceiving the enemy, and where feints are not possible, deals a heavy, straight blow. When main force must break the way, he demands much from his troops; but, as he possesses their full confidence, and is recognized as a fighter of dauntless courage, he can do this.”[12]

“He sees everything, and calculates the cost of every measure,” said Robert E. Lee. He could be “quick as guncotton when neccessary,” wrote Parrott, yet deliberate and cautious under the utmost pressure. His initiative and self-reliance never failed; yet, as even the prejudiced Semmes admitted, he made full use of all the talents, as well as all the valor, of his army. Though his plans were laid with extreme care in view of all the information that could be obtained, he never permitted them to shackle him, and promptly adapted himself, whether in campaign or in battle, to a change of circumstances. Both great things and little things were given his attention, but with due reference to their comparative importance. He knew the rules of his art, and also knew when to disregard them. He could both rouse troops to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and surpass the calculations of the expert. Says Hamley, it is “impracticable” to “conceive how sustained operations can be conducted in the face of an enemy without a secure starting-point.” Scott accomplished this.[12]

Characteristics of a more personal kind supported his professional ability. The General, Trist assured his wife, was “the soul of honour and probity, and full of the most sterling qualities of heart and head; affectionate, generous, forgiving and a lover of justice.” Though few made allowances for his imperfections, he was always ready to do this for others; and his magnanimity would have been remarkable, even had he not been a natural fighting man. Such traits enabled him to get on excellently with reasonable officers, while his ability, prudence, vigilance, good cheer, steadiness, courage, sympathy, and trust in his army, and his anxiety to avoid wasting the labor and lives of the men, gave him the entire confidence of the privates. A soldier who loved peace instead of war, a general who valued the lives of his troops more than glory, a conqueror who became in the hour of triumph a friend, and a citizen who placed his country above self-interest, he was the ideal commander of a republican army.[13]

To speak broadly and leaving genius out of the account, he possessed all the military qualities of Taylor, and all Taylor lacked. Taylor could fight splendidly, Scott could also avail himself of the advantages that knowledge and skill were able to supply. The soldiers of the one believed their leader was going to win, those of the other could give reasons for their faith. The army of occupation was ready to follow its commander with eyes shut, the army of conquest with eyes open. Both were kind at heart, but Scott’s humanity was made systematically effective. Both faced perils with unwavering courage, but Scott did all he could to understand what lay before him. Both complained of the government, but Scott had reason to do so. Both disregarded instructions; but while Taylor aimed to gratify himself, Scott’s aim was to benefit his country.[14]

The advantages were not all on one side, however. Taylor had excellent control of his temper and the everyday, personal shrewdness that Scott needed. His unsophistication bore the winning appearance of ingenuousness, while Scott’s reflective and studious ways gave him the reputation of a schemer. Each needed to be supplemented, but only Taylor had a Bliss. Scott’s men felt they were serving under a strong leader, Taylor’s that they were serving with one; while to Great Demos, always undiscriminating, the one represented head, the other heart; the one science, the other heroism.[14]

Both were remarkable. Taylor was a distinguished plebeian, Scott a distinguished patrician; the first a superb captain, the second a superb general; and each a great man.

THE AMERICAN ARMY

The soldiers, of course, did not equal their chief commanders in point of interest, but certain facts concerning them deserve attention. The total number of regulars in the war service down to July 5, 1848, was about 31,000. Of these, to use round numbers, 1600 were discharged because their term expired, 2550 for disability, and 500 for other causes; 2850 deserted; 530 were killed and 2100 wounded in battle; 400 died of their wounds; and there were 4900 ordinary or accidental deaths. Of the volunteers 59,000 actually served; 7200 were discharged for disability, and 2000 for other reasons before the expiration of their term; 3900 deserted; 1350 were wounded; 600 were killed or died of their wounds; and there were 6400 ordinary or accidental deaths. So it appears that out of some 90,000 officers and men serving, 6750 deserted, 12,250 had to be discharged before their term expired, 11,300 met with ordinary or accidental deaths, and only 1550 were accounted for by the enemy. The difference between the number mustered in and the number available at the front, and also between the number who lost their lives by fighting and the number who dropped out from other causes, was most instructive. The Americans captured seem to have numbered less than 1100. Of the volunteers, a very disproportionate percentage went from the southwest; the northwest did well, and the northeast lagged.[15]

From these figures it appears that approximately three out of one hundred regulars were killed or died in consequence of wounds and eight were discharged for disability, whereas the numbers for the volunteers were one and twelve; and in fact the showing of the regulars was still better, since the “new” regulars, officered with inferior men chosen largely for political reasons, did not equal the record of the old establishment. In many other respects also the volunteers ranked low. Not only was there a greater percentage of sickness among them, but the invalids required attendants. The volunteers wasted clothing, provisions and ammunition both heedlessly and through ignorance of administrative business; and their arms were not properly cared for.[16]

They had no intention of submitting to the discipline and routine labor of campaigning, and even at the close of the war could not be called real troops. The volunteers, wrote one of them, “will not be treated as regular soldiers.”

so another, an exceptionally good man, testified. “Soldiers will take their merry frolics,” an officer admitted. The camp slogan of a sturdy North Carolina company was: “Soldier, will you work?” “Sell my shirt first.” “Soldier, will you fight?” “Twell I die.” But even their fighting did not prove entirely satisfactory. Individually they were braver than the regulars; but the soldier’s business is to fight when the time comes, and the volunteers to a considerable extent wanted to fight when they pleased. They might do splendidly and they might not, their general knew. In a word, they were unreliable; and they even imperilled their own cause by exasperating the people. Marcy confessed that he felt disappointed. Yet there were offsets. Their patriotism and enthusiasm stimulated their officers and the regulars; and at their best—silent, grim, patient, with a look of kingship in their faces—they glorified hardships, perils, wounds, disease and death.[16]

A common idea of the regulars was expressed in the House by Tilden of Ohio, who described them as “a set of puppets ... shut up without exercise and in barracks, from year’s end to year’s end”; and the “sausage democracy” looked with contempt upon West Pointers as both puppets and aristocrats. The regulars, however, were preferable not only in camp and on the march, but on the field. In addition to being steady themselves, they helped immensely to steady the volunteers; and the regular officers furnished volunteer generals with knowledge, skill and sometimes resolution. As for their own commands, West Pointers might curse their men, but they took splendid care of them; and it was far better that men should fear their officers than that officers, like many in the volunteer army, should fear their men. General Scott said that without the science of the Military Academy his army, multiplied by four, could not have set foot in the capital; and Patterson, like him not a graduate of the school, concurred in this opinion.[17]

Our horse was to a large extent little more than mounted infantry; and our real cavalry, besides riding like the French and therefore badly, showed no mastery in sword practice. On the other hand our field artillery was excellent in personnel and material; and the engineers, though not fully trained according to the most exacting standards, earned abundant praise. More than once they made the very strength of the Mexican position help our men while they were preparing to attack; and the report of General Smith upon certain officers—“Nothing seemed to them too bold to be undertaken, or too difficult to be executed”—might have been applied to the corps as a body.[18]

In organization our armies were inferior to the best European models; but, said Gabriel Ferry in the Revue des Deux Mondes, the soldiers made up for this defect by displaying an energy adequate for every need. The infantry were criticised by foreign observers for a lack of correctness and snap in their movements. “What is called the American army,” wrote the minister of Spain, to imply that we had no real troops. But they husbanded their strength in this way; it was therefore ready for emergencies; and they had the initiative, ingenuity, independence and self-reliance that have been cultivated of late years abroad in place of conventional precision.[19]

Despite all technical defects, the faults of the volunteers and the admixture of mere immigrants among the regulars, we had soldiers to remember with pride. So many of the officers were superior men that almost all caught the inspiration more or less, and the privates felt ready to obey and follow them. The troops as a body acquired a sense of invincibility. “We may be killed, but we can’t be whipped,” was a favorite watch-word; and they fully meant it, said Karl von Grone. Dangers and hardships were bravely faced, as a rule, and often were faced with gayety. “Oh, this is a glorious life of mine,” exclaimed Lieutenant Hamilton; “a life in a land of fruits and flowers, of dark-eyed maidens and sunny skies, of snow-capped mountains and of flowering valleys; a life of adventure, of calm and storm, of bivouac and battle.”[20]

No doubt the political and social conditions of Mexico helped our troops greatly, but in addition to routing every time an enemy who was by no means intrinsically contemptible, outnumbered us and knew the ground, they had to war against deserts, war against mountains, war against fearful storms, war against a strange climate, war against a devouring pestilence; and in spite of every difficulty Scott, after capturing more than a thousand officers and more than six hundred cannon, occupied the capital of Mexico with less than six thousand men. The troops themselves, instead of boasting, pronounced it a “miracle”; but the critical and unfriendly Journal des DÉbats declared: “The new conquerors have equalled by their exploits the great Cortez himself, if they have not eclipsed him.”[20]Yet after all it was “a war of conquest,” we have long been told. Popularly “conquest” is in truth an odious word, for it has commonly been associated with odious deeds: aggression and cruel tyranny; but “circumstances alter cases,” and when the facts are unobjectionable, so is the term. Legally, the idea has prevailed that conquest is robbery; but this idea seems to have grown from the old conception that the government owned the country, and such is not our opinion to-day.[21]

Forcible acquisitions may indeed be commendable. In that way Rome civilized Europe, England gave peace, order and comparative happiness to India, and our own country came into being; and none of us would undo these results. The welfare of humanity is the true principle. Life has the right of way over death; enlightenment and energy over ignorance and torpor. Possession means use; power and opportunities mean service. The primary law is that all shall move forward and coÖperate in achieving the general destiny. Like individuals, every nation must run its course to the best of its ability, and if it grossly flags, pay the penalty. In the absence of any other tribunal, war must enforce this penalty. “Whosoever hath [in use], to him shall be given, ... but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that which he hath.” Such is eternal right; not the justice of the law schools, but the justice of the Supreme Power.[21]

Of all conquerors we were perhaps the most excusable, the most reasonable, the most beneficent. The Mexicans had come far short of their duty to the world. Being what they were, they had forfeited a large share of their national rights. Even Humboldt said that Mexico “ought not to expect to withhold, from the uses of civilization and improvement,” such neglected territories as New Mexico and California. A philosopher like Josiah Royce, a moralist like Francis Lieber and an unsympathetic historian like Dr. von Holst agree substantially that our duty called upon us to occupy the Golden Gate. Not merely an administration or a party, but the nation believed that our destiny called us there, and felt ready to assume the high responsibility of taking possession.[22]

Besides, while ours could perhaps be called a war of conquest, it was not a war for conquest—the really vital point. We found it necessary to require territory, for otherwise our claims and indemnity could not be paid. The conflict was forced upon us; yet we refused to take advantage of our opportunity. “It is almost impossible,” says Bryce, “for a feeble State, full of natural wealth which her people do not use, not to crumble under the impact of a stronger and more enterprising race.” But we gave back much that we took, and paid for the rest more than it was worth to Mexico. “All deserve praise, who ... have been more just than their actual power made it necessary to be,” said Thucydides; and we were not only just but liberal. Finally, we gave proof, in the prosperity and usefulness of our new territories, that our responsibility was amply met.[22]

So the account was fairly adjusted and more. But something still remains to say. A closer acquaintance with us and with real national life taught Mexico some of her mistakes, confirmed the political relations of her states, and helped greatly to liberalize her ideas and institutions. “The sad part of it is that our chastisement is merited,” preached RamÍrez. “He that reflects how useful are the lessons of suffering and misfortune,” declared the minister of relations, “will admit that no one could show more clearly the deformity of our errors than the foreign invader [has done], and that there could have been no more efficacious means of elevating our reason above the bastard interests of political passion.”[23]

THE WAR LEAVES MEXICO FRIENDLY

Still warmer sentiments prevailed. One of the chief obstacles in the way of making a treaty was the desire of not a few Mexicans to have the United States annex their country; and after that plan failed, the American general-in-chief was actually invited to become dictator for a term of years, backed by American troops. With reference to Trist, our commissioner, Couto and Cuevas remarked on presenting the treaty to Congress, “Of him there remain in Mexico none but grateful and honoring recollections”; and when bidding Clifford good-by, the President expressed—in no perfunctory way—a sincere desire for the most “sisterly” relations between the two countries, as essential to the welfare of Mexico. Indeed, that nation had not felt so cordial toward the United States for many years as it did immediately after the war.[23]

In Europe, too, fairer views and feelings regarding us began to be entertained. “If nothing occur to tarnish what has been so well begun,” wrote our minister at the court of St. James in June, 1846, “the moral influence produced here and in Europe generally will be worth all the expenses of the war.” “It was a hard lesson for England to learn, but she has learned it,” reported Bancroft, who succeeded him; “that America means to go on her own way, and that Europe ... must give up the thought of swaying her destiny.” Our triumphs over Mexico, remarked C. J. Ingersoll in the House, “have been admirable lessons ... to the world, that the [wise] policy of all nations is peace with these United States.” Only on respect and appreciation can peace and mutual helpfulness be founded, and both our victories and the manner in which they were used promoted harmony between us and the powers of Europe.[23]

Humanity and moderation—such humanity and moderation as are practicable amid hostilities—gilded our arms. “The elevated and kindly character of Taylor and Scott,” said the Mexican historian, Roa BÁrcena, “lessened as far as was possible the evils of war.” The Americans always treated us during the conflict with “the most noble courtesy,” wrote Ceballos. “We shall certainly consider it as an unprecedented event if this enormous booty [the wealth of the Mexican churches] escapes from pillage,” proclaimed the London Times; and it did escape. We have beaten the enemy, felt Robert E. Lee, the knightly soldier, “in a manner no man might be ashamed of.” Even Theodore Parker, though opposed to the war, made this public acknowledgment: “It has been conducted with as much gentleness as a war of invasion can be.” And a brave officer of rare intelligence uttered on the floor of our Senate these words: “We have cause to be proud of the record this war will leave behind it—a monument more lasting than brass. We, the actors of to-day, must soon crumble to dust; the institutions we now maintain, and hope will be perpetual, may pass away; the Republic may sink in the ocean of time, and the tide of human affairs roll unbroken over its grave; but the events of this war will live in the history of our country and our race, affording in all ages to come, proof of the high state of civilization amongst the people who conducted it.”[24]