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JOMINI,
CLAUSEWITZ, AND WINFIELD SCOTT
Though
arguably lost in the glare of the later Civil War, fought by
many of the same officers who were once brothers in arms, the
Mexican War was a critical conflict in its own right.
Victory
enabled the United States to secure a political settlement that
enlarged its territory by almost a quarter, while stripping away
almost half of Mexico’s.[1]
This aggravated party and
territorial rivalries among the victors too, with a Democratic
President James Knox Polk faced with the reality that the war
was won chiefly by commanders who happened to be Whigs― Zachary
Taylor and Winfield Scott.
In the long term, more
importantly, the United States confronted the key question of
whether or not its windfall of new territory should be free or
slave, an issue that helped accelerate the march toward the War
Between the States.[2] For Mexico,
it was correspondingly disastrous.
Though much of the land lost
through the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was underpopulated or
even virtually empty compared to the Mexican heartland, it was a
blow that traumatized the country, especially after the recent
loss of Texas to a rebellion by its Anglo-American residents.[3]
Timothy J. Henderson of Auburn
University asserts that Mexico went to war with the United
States over the immediate dispute of Texan admission to the
Union, and the fixing of its border at the Rio Grande River
instead of the Neuces, as Mexico desired; even though perceptive
Mexican political and military leaders saw defeat as nearly
inevitable, a need to satisfy honor after the loss of Texas
mandated war.[4]
Then when war came, it
exacerbated Mexico’s own long-standing conflicts between
conservatives and liberals, federalists and centralists.[5]
Further, the war brought back
to power Antonio Lopéz de Santa Anna, the cruel, demagogic,
corrupt, and supremely opportunistic figure who was both the
most important Mexican of his day,[6]
and arguably the most dangerous to his own country. The decisive
campaign of the war ended with the capture of Mexico City by the
Americans on 14 September 1847.[7]
An American army of almost
12,000 men had landed at Veracruz on 9 March 1847,[8]
and then marched upcountry via the same general route used by
Hernando Cortés.[9]
The Americans defeated a
Mexican army under Santa Anna himself, larger than the American
force and ensconced in the defensible position at Cerro Gordo on
their way to the capital.[10]
At one point, when Scott
withdrew his garrisons between Veracruz and Puebla, an aged Duke
of Wellington is reported to have exclaimed “Scott is lost!
He has been carried away by
successes!
He can’t take the city [Mexico
City], and he can’t fall back on his bases!”[11]
But when he heard that Scott
had indeed overcome tremendous odds to take the city, the Iron
Duke proclaimed the American commander “the greatest living
soldier.”[12] Scott’s
campaign both owes its success to the prevailing military
theories of the time, and presages an emerging school of
warfare.
At the time, American military
theory was dominated by the works of the Swiss Baron Antoine
Henri de Jomini, as he attempted to interpret the military
lessons of the Napoleonic Wars.
Spearheaded by the influential
Superintendent, Sylvanus Thayer, and the longtime engineering
instructor Dennis Hart Mahan, the United States Military Academy
enthusiastically embraced Jomini as it generally followed the
French example of military theory and education.
The
French, and Jominian, influence was further cemented when
Mahan’s former student Henry Wager Halleck wrote
Elements of Military Art and Science,
heavily influenced by both Jomini and Mahan, and published on
the eve of the Mexican War.
Mahan and Halleck, under the
influence of Thayer, initiated American strategic studies,
consciously promoted professionalism in the United States Army,
and asserted that military science was a specialty that demanded
intense study, especially of military history.[13]
Scott
was a part of this trend himself, priding himself in a military
library he began assembling, and traveling with, as young
general during the War of 1812.
French works were among the
most prominent in his collection, and in influencing him.[14] In Europe at
least, there was a competing, German-centered interpretation of
the Napoleonic Wars.
Carl von Clausewitz originated
a contrasting school of analysis, one that would later eclipse
that of Jomini and the French approach, but he was largely
unknown in the United States at the time of the Mexican War.
Jomini had the advantage of having his
Art of War
published in 1838, just in time for the war with Mexico, whereas
Clausewitz was not available in English translation until 1873,
too late even to directly influence the Civil War.[15]
Jomini would not have this
disadvantage, as Scott already had a long predisposition to use
French manuals that dated back to 1808.[16]
In
fact, Scott was credited as a disciple of Jomini going back to
his service on the Niagara frontier in the War of 1812, taking a
copy of the Swiss writer’s
Treatise on Great Military Operations
with him.[17]
Additionally, though not a
graduate of the United States Military Academy, he took special
interest in the institution, being named as head of West Point’s
Board of Visitors in 1831; he saw it as the symbol of the
professionalism that he wanted to instill into the United States
Army.
Eschewing a passive role, he
attended classes, and was in an ideal position to influence the
education of American officers.[18] Thus any
competition between Jomini and Clausewitz for the intellectual
allegiance of American officers was over before it began.
Leading American military
intellectuals, including Winfield Scott, were already drawn to
the orbit of the French school and general, and Jomini in
particular, as they tried to make sense of the lessons from the
Napoleonic Wars.
Jomini was already known by
Francophile officers, while Clausewitz, though published in
German seven years earlier than his rival,[19]
would be virtually unknown in
the United States for several more decades.
Thus Jomini won by default. The visions
offered by Jomini and Clausewitz are markedly different, despite
analyzing the same Napoleonic Wars.
Jomini is essentially
rational, mathematical, and geometric, aiming to bring reason to
that most essentially unreasonable of human activities, war.
Reading this passage from
The Art of War,
one can imagine the general standing over the map, protractor in
hand, planning the campaign with mathematical precision:
We will suppose an army taking the
field: the first care of its commander should be to agree with
the head of the state upon the character of the war: then he
must carefully study the theater of war, and select the most
suitable base of operations, taking into consideration the
frontiers of the state and those of its allies. The selection
of this base and the proposed aim will determine the zone of
operations.
The
general will take a first objective point: he will select the
line of operations leading to this point, either as a temporary
or permanent line, giving it the most advantageous direction;
namely, that which promises the greatest number of favorable
opportunities with the least danger.
An
army marching on this line of operations will have a front of
operations and a strategic front.
The
temporary positions which the
corps d'armée
will occupy
upon this front of operations, or
upon the line of defense, will be strategic positions.[20] At its core,
Jomini’s work is a product of the Age of Reason as much as the
tumult of the Napoleonic Era, in which he served as chief of
staff to Marshall Michel Ney before defecting to the Allies in
1813.
As eminent a scholar of the
Napoleonic Wars as David G. Chandler characterizes him as one of
only two contemporary writers who came close to understanding
the genius of Napoleon Bonaparte ― the other being Carl von
Clausewitz.[21]
Undoubtedly, Jomini had not
only a close acquaintance with the way of war of Napoleon
Bonaparte, but with the Emperor personally, and thus was in a
unique position to witness and analyze both.
Along with that, Jomini’s
place in Napoleon’s command structure gives him a unique
credibility among writers of the era.
Jomini’s
infatuation with lines of communication and their centrality in
strategy is as reminiscent of warfare in the eighteenth century
and the era of Frederick the Great as it is of the Napoleonic
Wars.
His
Art of War
reveals both a conservatism in politics, and a revulsion of the
popular passions that can aggravate wars into something even
more destructive of civilians, institutions and society:
It may be
recollected how in 1792 associations of fanatics thought it
possible to propagate throughout Europe the famous declaration
of the rights of man, and how governments became justly alarmed,
and rushed to arms probably with the intention of only forcing
the lava of this volcano back into its crater and there
extinguishing it.
The
means were not fortunate; for war and aggression are
inappropriate measures for arresting an evil which lies wholly
in the human passions, excited in a temporary paroxysm, of less
duration as it is the more violent.
Time
is the true remedy for all bad passions and for all anarchical
doctrines.
A
civilized nation may bear the yoke of a factious and
unrestrained multitude for a short interval; but these storms
soon pass away, and reason resumes her sway.[22]
He thus rejects both the “bad
passions” of a nation at war, and the idea that these passions
can be suppressed through war.
Rather, the threat of military
intervention can aggravate destructive enthusiasms still
further.[23]
Clausewitz’s approach is markedly different, less precise,
orderly, and concerned with precise lines.
He
dismisses Jomini’s obsessions, accepting that war is more
chaotic by nature: The reader
expects to hear of strategic theory, of lines and angle, and
instead of these denizens of the scientific world he finds
himself encountering only creatures of everyday life.
But the author cannot bring
himself to be in the slightest degree more scientific than he
considers his subject to warrant ― strange as this attitude may
appear. In war more
than anywhere else things do not turn out as we expect.
Nearby they do not appear as
they did from a distance.
With that assurance an
architect watches the progress of his work and sees his plans
gradually take shape!
A doctor, though much more
exposed to chance and inexplicable results, knows his medicines
and the effects they produce.
By contrast, a general in time
of war is constantly bombarded by reports both true and false;
by errors arising from fear or negligence or hastiness; by
disobedience born of right or wrong interpretations, of ill
will, of a proper or mistaken sense of duty, of laziness, or of
exhaustion; and by accidents that nobody could have foreseen.
In short, he is exposed to
countless impressions, most of them disturbing, few of them
encouraging.[24] Thus the
writer captures the phenomenon of war as something beyond
measurement by protractors across a map.
For Jomini, war is more like a
geometry lesson; for Clausewitz, a giant mess, albeit one to be
managed, as much through sheer effort as brilliance of maneuver:
Perseverance
in the chosen course is the essential counterweight, provided
that no compelling reasons intervene to the contrary.
Moreover, there is hardly a
worthwhile enterprise in war whose execution does not call for
infinite effort, trouble and privation; and as man under
pressure tends to give in to physical and intellectual weakness,
only great strength of will can lead to the objective.
It is steadfastness that will
earn the admiration of the world and of posterity.[25] Kind-hearted
people might of course think there was some ingenious way to
disarm or defeat an enemy without too much bloodshed, and might
imagine that is the true goal of the art of war.
Pleasant as it sounds, it is a
fallacy to that must be exposed: war is such a dangerous
business that the mistakes which come from kindness are the very
worst.
The maximum use of force is in
no way incompatible with the simultaneous use of the intellect.
If one side uses force without
compunction, undeterred by the bloodshed it involves, while the
other side refrains, the first will gain the upper hand.
That side will force the other
to follow suit; each will drive its opponent toward extremes,
and the only limiting factors are the counterpoises inherent in
war.[27] Both
theorists devote significant attention to the relationship of
politics and war, and Scott’s campaign did take place in a
complex political context.
Jomini dedicates the entire first chapter of
The Art of War
to the relationship between war and diplomacy, but the main
theme is about the nature of conflicts rather than the
relationship between military and political authorities and
decision-making.[28]
Clausewitz, by contrast,
spends less time explicitly on the subject, but focuses on how
politics influences war, and vice versa.
For him, the “political
object” determines the “military object,” and the level of force
to be committed to attain it.
Additionally, he states that
sometimes the political and military objects are the same.
In other cases, the political
object does not supply a ready military objective:
Then, “another military
objective must be adopted that will serve the political purpose
and symbolize it in the peace negotiations.”[29] In Scott’s
campaign, the military objective was clear: Capture of Mexico
City.
Yet to end the war in the
favor of the United States, Scott and the American political
representative, Nicholas Trist, had to attain a more
comprehensive settlement.
This was in a Mexican domestic
environment that was even more confused and fractious than
usual, involving practices inimical to American practices.
Even before the fall of Mexico
City, Scott allocated ten thousand dollars for “secret expenses”
― specifically to respond to an offer from Santa Anna to end the
war for a bribe of that amount.
But after the American victory
at Cerro Gordo, the Mexican congress passed a law declaring that
even discussing negotiations was treasonous; in the face of this
defiance, Santa Anna backed off his offer, but kept the ten
thousand dollars,[30]
an act that the Americans should have anticipated. Nor was the
American political situation exactly a source of comfort to
Scott.
President James K. Polk did
not have complete confidence in General Scott, but did not
believe that he could keep the commander of the United States
Army out of the Mexican War without cause.
At the same time, he had less
in the American commander in Texas, Zachary Taylor, whom he
believed was of limited brainpower.
In this he had Scott’s
agreement that Taylor was not up to the task of command, though
Scott could not say so in public.
Indeed, Scott’s appraisal was
that Taylor was a man of honor and common sense, but
intellectually narrow and rather simple.[31]
Scott’s own words, published
in his memoirs in 1864, are a study in condescension: With a good
store of common sense, General Taylor’s mind had not been
enlarged or refreshed by reading, or much converse with the
world.
Rigidity of ideas was the
consequence.
The frontiers and small
military posts had been his home.
Hence he was quite ignorant,
for his rank, and quite bigoted in his ignorance.
His simplicity was childlike,
and his innumerable prejudices―amusing and incorrigible―well
suited to the tender age.
Thus if a man, however
respectable, chanced to wear a coat of an unusual color, or his
hat a little on one side of his head; or if any officer to leave
the corner of his handkerchief dangling from an outside
pocket―in any way such case, this critic [Taylor] held the
offender to be a coxcomb―perhaps, something worse, whom he would
not, to use his oft-repeated phrase, “touch with a pair of
tongs.”
Any allusion to literature
much beyond good old Dilworth’s Spelling Book, on the part of
one wearing a sword, was evidence, with the same judge, of utter
unfitness for heavy marchings and combats.
In short, few men have ever
had a more comfortable, labor-saving contempt for learning of
every kind.[32]
Yet Scott concedes of Taylor’s
character, with a rare
mea culpa: Yet this old
soldier and neophyte statesman, had the true basis of a great
character:―pure, uncorrupted morals, combined with indomitable
courage.
Kind-hearted, sincere, and hospitable in a plain way, he had no
vice but prejudice, many friends, and left behind him not an
enemy in the world―not even in the autobiographer, whom, in the
blindness of his great weakness, he―after
being named to the Presidency, had seriously wronged.[33] Scott’s
relations with his own administration were strained as well.
A Democrat, Polk was keenly
aware of the ambitions of both Taylor and Scott, both Whigs, to
replace him.
Senator Thomas Hart Benton
presumptuously attempted to have Polk name him to command the
Veracruz operation.[35]
A confidant of Polk’s who was
also chairman of the Senate Military Affairs Committee, Benton
had served as a colonel in the War of 1812,[36]
but did not have the recent experience to suit him as an
army-level commander by any means.
Nonetheless, Polk attempted to
undercut both Taylor and Scott, especially to prominent
Democrats, on the grounds that the expedition needed a leader
friendlier to the administration ― who of course would be
Benton.
Thus Polk dealt with Scott
disingenuously, and betrayed a false notion that command
decisions could be made solely through the prism of domestic,
partisan politics.[37] The confused,
even conspiratorial, turn of American politics belies the rather
neat and elegant theories of both Jomini and Clausewitz.
Jealousies and rivalries
between commanders are to be expected and both theorists,
especially Jomini in the hothouse of the Napoleonic Marshalate,
surely would have witnessed this or even worse during their
military service.
Much more serious, and less
excusable, there was nothing approximating a seamless connection
between the political and military authorities, and ultimately
the political authority, in the form of President Polk and his
Secretary of War William Marcy.
In a letter to the latter, he
accurately portrayed his situation as one in which Scott wrote: “My
explicit meaning is ― that I do not desire to place myself in
the most perilous of all positions:―a fire upon my rear from
Washington, and the fire, in front, of the Mexicans.”[38] Yet not all
of the fault lies with Polk, Marcy and Benton; Scott
demonstrated a lifelong, consistent penchant for undiplomatic
behavior, indiscreet communications, and a general lack of
political sense in direct contrast with his military
sophistication.
As a young artillery captain
in 1809, he referred to his commanding general as a traitor, “as
great at Aaron Burr,” resulting in a court martial and
suspension from duty for a year.[39]
Eight years later he condemned
an order by General Andrew Jackson as “mutinous,” and got off
with no more than an answer that Scott was a “hectoring bully.”
He was faced court marshal for
a second time in 1837 for his prosecution of the Seminole War,
but was exonerated.[40] John S.D.
Eisenhower identifies Scott’s overbearing manner and
outspokenness as central to his character, and not the result of
too many years of service by the time of the Mexican War.
Instead: They had
always been part of his makeup.
But he had never been punished
severely enough to make him change his ways.
In fact, some of the
disciplinary actions against him had turned out to be blessings
in disguise.[41]
In addition, Polk was correct in
believing that Scott did have aspirations to the White House.
Scott was the Whig nominee in
1852, the last for that party as it turned out, and was soundly
defeated by Franklin Pierce, a former military subordinate in
Mexico.
For the Whigs, the Democratic
landslide was appalling, as Scott carried only Kentucky,
Tennessee, Vermont and Massachusetts, even losing his home state
of Virginia.[42]
Scott ended up as the only
military hero ever rejected for the White House in a general
election, doomed by long and bombastic speeches, a tendency to
speak over the heads of his audiences, and a generally clumsy
campaigning style.
Further, his conservative
political views were out of touch with the times, and efforts to
reach out to traditionally Democratic Irish immigrant voters in
particular backfired by alienating anti-immigrant nativists.[43] Nor did his
political missteps end there.
During the secession crisis
that ended in the Civil War, he submitted a rambling and
unrealistic set of political and military recommendations,
unsolicited by its recipients, to President James Buchanan and
Secretary of War John Floyd.
Sending it was well to other
influential parties, including newspaper editors, Scott
obviously intended for it become public.
Instead, it destroyed whatever
influence he might have had with the Buchanan administration.[44]
Thus Scott showed a record of
questionable, even poor, political judgment to the end of his
career. Scott’s
campaign started with the largest amphibious landing in American
history to that point, to be surpassed only with the Torch
landings in North Africa in 1942.[45]
As such, the operation
demanded a high degree of cooperation between Scott and the
naval commander, Commodore David Conner.
An expert at seamanship and
navigation, he had over thirty years worth of experience in the
Gulf of Mexico, but by 1846 was old and unhealthy, “confirmed
invalid.”[46]
Nonetheless he proved highly
effective in command of the Gulf Squadron, until replaced, by
Matthew Perry on 21 March 1847.[47]
Further, Conner and Scott
maintained an excellent professional relationship.[48] The start of
a campaign with an assault from the sea is definitely consistent
with Jomini.
A little ironically for an
officer from landlocked Switzerland, Jomini stressed that
seizing enemy ports was essential to all wars of coastal
invasion.[49]
With effective control of the
Gulf, Scott was free to invade wherever he chose, considering
whether to land at Tampico, thence through San Luis Potosí to
Mexico City, or to take the shorter route from Veracruz.
Tampico had the advantage of
having been seized without opposition by Conner on 11 November
1846.[50]
Learning that there was no
road from Tampico to San Luis Potosí, Scott elected to land at
Veracruz.[51]
Tampico was relegated to the
port of debarkation for Taylor’s troops being transferred to
Scott’s command, while those from the United States were to
assemble at Brazos Santiago.
Since Tampico’s harbor was too
small to accommodate all the transports, the contingents would
assemble at Lobos Island before moving on to Veracruz.[52] The actual
invasion reflected both Jomini and Clausewitz.
Jomini cautioned that since
the invention of artillery, amphibious operations were hazardous
and rare.[53]
Hence, he advocated that if
one was to be undertaken, the army should land on a beach where
it could assemble as a whole, and quickly get its own artillery
into operation.
Scott did just that before
attacking Veracruz and its imposing fort of San Juan de Ulloa.[54] The operation
can also be viewed in terms of Clausewitz’s principle of
surprise.
The Mexicans should not have
been entirely surprised that the Americans should invade at
Veracruz.
After all, this was where
Cortez had invaded, and only in 1838, Santa Anna had lost a leg
there, fighting the French in the Pastry War.
[55]
The city was protected by
impressive fortifications, and by coast artillery interspersed
in the area.[56]
Additionally Santa Anna
ordered upwards of 6,000 militia to concentrate on Veracruz,
though poor administration and staffwork prevented them from
arriving in time.[57] Clausewitz
tends to look at surprise as either strategic or tactical,[58]
and Scott’s siege of Veracruz was not especially different in
its conduct than any other.
Scott himself concedes that
“All sieges are much alike.”[59]
Yet the unprecedented scale of
the American invasion had to have been surprising in itself.
In
the end, Veracruz surrendered to overwhelming American land and
naval power on 27 March.
Scott recorded capturing about
5,000 prisoners, 400 artillery pieces, and large stores of
ammunition, at the cost of only sixty-four American dead.[60] The next step
was to move inland on the prime objective, Mexico City.
Jomini and Clausewitz[61]
share a concern with maintaining a clear eye on the objective of
an operation, and so did Scott.
Scott selected a route
following the National Road through Jalapa, then Puebla and
finally approaching Mexico City.[62]
One could look at that in
terms of military theory, especially Jomini’s, with its emphasis
on lines of movement and resistance.
Yet one could also look at
Scott’s choice as simply sensible, as there were but two routes
available, and this one was arguably the better.
With their birth on the
battlegrounds of Europe, where road nets were much more
extensive, Jomini’s theories were not prepared for the relative
paucity of roads in Mexico. Scott had a
second reason for advancing, and doing so quickly, that had less
to do with Jominian theory or even the enemy than it did with
nature: Disease.
Veracruz lay on the tropical Gulf coast of Mexico, where yellow
fever, the dreaded
vomito,
was endemic.
This was a prime concern in a
war in which 2,083 men died in combat or accidents, but 11,155
succumbed to disease.
[63]
In the Mexican War, all other
diseases had cumulative death rate of 10.9%, but yellow fever’s
mortality was 17.4%.[64]
Thus Scott had every reason to
move into the highlands as quickly as possible, regardless of
any strategic philosophy. During his
march to the Valley of Mexico, and after taking the city, Scott
exhibited a great deal of sensitivity toward the Mexicans,
showing more political aptitude than he often did with American
officers and politicians in peacetime.
He was deeply concerned about
the behavior of American soldiers, whose lapses into
indiscipline threatened to alienate Mexicans in the American
zone of operations.
He declared martial law in
Veracruz, not so much to control the population, but to control
his own soldiers better; Americans were restricted to the city,
banned from killing domestic animals, and in at least one case a
soldier was hanged for rape.[65]
Two teamsters from Robert
Patterson’s division were executed for murdering a Mexican boy
when the army reached Jalapa.[66] With the same
goal of winning over the Mexicans, Scott turned his attention to
the Catholic Church.
He ordered American soldiers
to salute priests, and personally requested the clergy in
Veracruz for permission to conduct religious services in two
churches; the Mexican priests assented, provided that they could
perform the services for the occupiers themselves.
Furthermore, the general
indulged in his penchant for military splendor when he and his
staff donned their best full-dress uniforms and attended Mass in
Veracruz cathedral with the new governor, lighting a candle in a
ceremony in which the priests, caught up in the spirit of the
moment, drafted him.
Scott’s cultivation of the
Catholic Church in Mexico threatened to alienate Nativists back
home, undermining his presidential ambitions, but offered
evidence that he put the military mission first and foremost.[67] In terms of
military theory, Scott’s actions do fit in with Jomini’s views
that eschew inordinate passions in war.
Scott was certainly attempting
to maintain the “civilized” nature of the conflict, in which
soldiers fought soldiers, and civilians were neither active
participants nor victims, any more than absolutely necessary.
But as with his choice of
landing places and routes to Mexico City, not everything can be
credited to preexisting theory; he commanded a small army in a
hostile land, in which lines of communication back to Veracruz
promised to be tenuous.
He simply did not have the
means to conduct anything approximating total war, and could not
afford it if the Mexicans adopted a similar approach themselves.
Therefore immediate military
needs dictated policies that happened to conform to Jomini’s
theories. In that,
Scott was successful.
The Americans paid for rather
than took supplies, and had little interference from Mexican
guerrillas.
Some Mexicans did attack
American stragglers and patrols, but their threat was miniscule.
According to one soldier,
these were only bandits who preyed on Mexicans as well as
Americans, and were not part of the war effort.
Ultimately, they did not
represent anything close to an organized, effective thread of
irregular warfare.[68] Nonetheless,
when Scott did encounter guerrillas, he dealt with them
ruthlessly.
He announced a war of
extermination against them, denying quarter.
Should any be taken prisoner
“accidently,” they should be held only as long as necessary for
a summary court martial to order equally rapid execution.
If civilians harbored or
supported irregulars, he held local officials responsible,
confiscating their property when they failed to help apprehend
the guerrillas.
When and where that was
insufficiently effective, Scott fined and burned villages
suspected of harboring the elusive enemy.
Thus he applied the stick as
well as the carrot, and even if the bandit/guerrilla threat was
never completely eradicated, he was able to keep it in check.
In large part this was because
he was able to convince the local population that they had a lot
more to gain through cooperation than opposition.[69]
Even this apostle of Jomini
had his limits. The first
major battle of Scott’s campaign occurred at Cerro Gordo on 18
April 1847. This not a battle by choice, but forced by Santa
Anna’s occupation of a defilade between Veracruz and Scott’s
first major objective of Jalapa.
Scott
chose an approach reflective of his military sophistication, and
which carried the possibility of decisive victory.
Santa Anna was confident that
the Americans would have to launch a costly frontal assault,
made even more difficult by fire from Mexican batteries
outposted on cliffs overlooking the approach to the battlefield.[70] Scott did not
play by Santa Anna’s rules.
Instead, benefiting from a
reconnaissance by engineers lead by the intrepid Captain Robert
E. Lee, Scott planned on sending a flanking force to the north,
through rough terrain that Santa Anna did not consider passable.
The battle went well for the
Americans, though poor performance by the notoriously incapable
Gideon Pillow prevented the rout from becoming a really decisive
victory.
The Americans did capture
Santa Anna’s personal treasury, and maybe a little more
dramatic, his wooden leg.[71] Continuing
the advance through Puebla toward Mexico City, Scott showed a
Clausewitzan willingness to do battle.
His army fought an extremely
dogged foe at Contreras in August; when the Mexicans finally
capitulated, they were out of ammunition, and their commander,
General Anaya, critically wounded and badly burned.
So determined was the Mexican
resistance, an American observer stated that “the glory is all
theirs.”[72]
Scott
kept up the pressure, making two more assaults at Molina del Rey
and Chapultepec, and then seizing the Belem and San Cosme
garitas,
or gateways, to the city.
The next day, 14 September
1847, a delegation came out under a flag of truce and
surrendered Mexico.[73] Besides his
willingness to engage the enemy rather than avoid battle through
maneuver, Scott’s strategy before Mexico City reflects a more
Clausewitzan than Jominian approach.
This
is not the only area in which Scott’s conduct of the campaign
plays as much to
On War
as
The Art of War,
and one can find clear instances of Clausewitzan principles in
the campaign. The principle
of concentration occurs in both Clausewitz and Scott’s campaign.
Clausewitz emphasizes the importance of keeping one’s forces
massed, stating that “No force should ever be detached from the
main body unless the need is definite and
urgent.
[original emphasis].”[74]
He continues to say that
throughout history, armies have been divided for no good reason,
simply because the commander vaguely thought that it was the way
it should be done.
Counters Clausewitz: “This
folly can be avoided completely, and a great many unsound
reasons for dividing one’s forces never be proposed, as soon as
concentration of force is recognized as the norm, and every
separation and split as an exception has to be justified.”[75] Scott did
keep his forces concentrated throughout the campaign.
The
greatest exception was when the American army split to fight for
the
garitas
on the perimeter of the enemy capital, and this was really the
pursuit of a defeated enemy, when division can be most effective
and called for.
Even the twin battles of
Contreras and Churubusco south of the city were really two parts
of the same battle, with most of the American units engaged in
both engagements.[76] At the same
time, Scott adhered to the principle of economy of force[77]
when necessary.
On the strategic scale,
diverting the core of Taylor’s army to the main effort, the
drive on Mexico City, represents concentration.
Maintaining a smaller force
under Taylor around Saltillo, capable of maintaining an
effective defense in northern Mexico, is a classic instance of
economy of force.
However, the near-run victory
at Buena Vista, as Santa Anna struck this depleted army in late
February 1847, demonstrates that economy of force is a
calculated risk.[78] Despite his
mandates to keep an army concentrated, Clausewitz warns against
using too large of a force to accomplish a task; too many troops
can result in unnecessary casualties.[79]
In his attack on Chapultepec
Castle, Scott embraced this principle; first he ordered the
bombardment of the objective, using captured Mexican pieces as
well as his own siege train, to force an issue without the
commitment of infantry, and resulting effusion of blood.
When that failed, Scott
ordered a direct assault.
Two divisions, William Worth’s
and Gideon Pillow’s, were officially allocated to the task.
However, the actual spearheads
were “forlorn hopes” of a few hundred picked men and officers
from both, with their comrades in support.
By
0930, two hours after the battle started, the Stars and Stripes
flew over Chapultepec Castle, and the roads to the
garitas,
and thus Mexico City, were open.[80] Perhaps
Scott’s most important instance of adhering to economy of force,
combined with a willingness to live off the land without
necessarily plundering it, came on 4 June.
He found that he could not
adequately protect his convoys moving inland from Veracruz.
Moreover, the cost of
garrisoning Veracruz, Jalapa and Perote reduced the vital Puebla
garrison to only 5,820.
Therefore he abandoned all
positions between Veracruz and Puebla, and moving those troops
up to Puebla.
This cut the American army off
from the coast; Scott would have to live off of Mexico, not
supplies delivered to Veracruz.
It was this action that caused
Wellington to exclaim from London that Scott was lost, unable to
take Mexico City, or fall back on his bases.[81] For
Clausewitz, war was something in which unity of command was
essential; it was nothing to be done by committee.
The principle of unity of
command applies to Scott’s campaign too.
There was but one commander,
Scott, who happened to be the commander of the United States
Army as well.
David Conner, and then Matthew
Perry, was his naval opposite, and Scott was able to maintain
good professional relationships with both.
Thus only was cooperation
between the army and navy very good, but the navy served the
army’s purposes extremely well.
The initial landings, followed
by the siege of Veracruz, are examples of joint cooperation
yielding crucial results. Further,
Scott was the unquestionable authority within his own army,
sharing power with no other officer at the top of the hierarchy.
He did quarrel with Gideon
Pillow, especially after the fall of Mexico City.
Then again Pillow was one of
the least talented officers in the army, unpopular with officers
and troops alike, and with ambitions far beyond his
capabilities; perhaps his best qualification was that he was a
crony of President Polk.[82]
It was a record of mediocrity
that he would maintain into the Civil War, in which he quickly
showed his inadequacy as a Confederate general, being
reprimanded and removed from command after the surrender of Fort
Donelson.[83] Despite
enduring such sniping from a bad general under his command, and
his own pride and pomposity, Scott did not abuse his power by
intimidating officers.
Before the attack on
Chapultepec, he solicited the views of his officers, who felt
that they could think and speak freely.
In the end though, only one
vote counted, and that was Scott’s.[84]
Thus unity of command was
preserved, while maintaining a healthy freedom to think and
contribute among his officers. There was no obvious
instance of "group think" during this council of war. Yet Scott
could also be hard on subordinates whom he saw as behaving
badly.
For example, William Worth was
responsible for administering Puebla, and did it poorly.
The general demonstrated
paranoia toward the Mexicans, circulating a document warning
Americans that the water supply was poisoned by the inhabitants.
He imagined other threats,
ordering drums to call out the garrison so much that they were
referred to as “Worth’s scarecrows.”
Simultaneously, he could be
inordinately lenient with the Mexicans, going so far as to allow
local courts to try American soldiers accused of murder; the
courts quickly abused this, severely depressing the morale of
the American enlisted men.[85] Scott took
matters in hard personally.
He instituted a more nuanced
set of policies, in large part repeating what he had instituted
in Veracruz, building a greater degree of confidence between
American soldiers and Mexican civilians in as low key a manner
as he could.
Again, he courted the Catholic
Church, and before long, relations were much better and more
peaceful.
As for Worth, he instituted a
court of appeal that found him guilty on 24 June 1847 of
offering terms of capitulation to Puebla that were “improvident
and detrimental to the public service,” and issuing a circular
about the allegedly poisoned water that was “highly improper and
extremely objectionable.”
Worth received only a
reprimand, but was so incensed that he appealed to Washington
for justice.
Finally, Scott lost Worth as a
valued friend and ally.[86]
At that cost though, Scott was
able to further his mission politically through restoration of relations
with the Mexicans, and reasserting American power in Puebla,
while maintaining control as the sole commander of the American
army. The greatest
threat to the harmony of the army, and unity of command, was the
arrival of Nicholas Trist, during a three-month halt at Puebla,
where Scott planned the last stage of his drive on Mexico City.
Trist was charged by Polk with
authority to negotiate the post-war peace, with large
territorial concessions to the United States.
Trist was well-suited to the
task; married to Thomas Jefferson’s granddaughter, he had
studied law under the third President of the United States, and
served as Andrew Jackson’s private secretary.
He further had diplomatic
experience as consul to Cuba, and was a fluent Spanish-speaker.[87] Scott,
perhaps understandably considering his perceptions of Polk’s
“perfidy” from the conception of the campaign in Washington,[88]
saw Trist’s arrival as an attempt to undermine his authority.
Yet he and the diplomat soon
developed a rapport that would serve the war effort well.
[89]
After Mexico City fell, Trist
began the difficult task of negotiating a settlement; Santa Anna
had skulked away in the middle of the night, resigned his
command, and gone into yet another exile.
With no president, executive
power lay with the chief justice of the Mexican Supreme Court,
Manuel Peña y Peña.
Further, Mexican politics
remained as factionalized as ever, with some willing to pursue
victory through the kind of guerrilla war that Scott had done so
much to prevent.
Others were afraid of their own underclass, the so-called
leperos.[90] Relations with the Americans remained more cordial, though
complex.
Interestingly, while Trist and
Scott maintained a friendly relationship, and negotiations with
the Mexicans went slowly but without much bitterness, the
relationship between Trist and his friend Polk broke down to the
point that Polk ordered the diplomat’s recall in October 1847.
Trist disobeyed orders,
remaining to negotiate the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo on 1
February 1848, thus ending the war.[91]
In a clear Clausewitzan
manner, war became politics by another means, and then gave way
back to diplomacy, albeit in defiance of the civilian executive. No
Clausewitzan analysis of any conflict would be complete without
consideration of friction.
Clausewitz writes: Friction is
the only concept that more or less corresponds to the factors
that distinguish real war from war on paper.
The military machine―the army
and everything related to it―is basically very simple and
therefore seems easy to manage.
But we should bear in mind
that none of its components is of one piece: each part is
comprised of individuals, every one of whom retains his
potential of friction.[92]
Further, each one of those
individuals, indeed every component of the army and everything
with which it interactions, carries the potential of not working
according to the general’s wishes, orders or expectations.
In short, things go wrong. Scott’s
campaign exhibits the concept of friction throughout.
The weather conditions that
interfered with his correspondence with Zachary Taylor can be
seen as friction.
So could early difficulties in
procuring mules immediately following the capture of Veracruz.[93]
Soon after, David Twiggs
marched his division up the National Road toward Cerro Gordo,
driving them too fast, thus causing a third of his command to
fall out.
Then many of these soldiers
were in no hurry to rejoin their units, taking their time to
shoot Mexican cattle and rob houses along the way.[94]
Both the error of General
Twiggs, and the lazy efforts of his stragglers to catch up,
matches Clausewitz’s definition of friction.
Then too, so was Pillow’s
botching of his part of the attack at Cerro Gordo. Friction
played a major part too in the Battle of Molina del Rey on 8
September 1847.
Scott had intelligence that
the Mexicans were casting cannon there, and that there was a
large store of powder at Casa Mata, intelligence that turned out
to be false.[95]
Scott demanded that the
position be taken, but thought of it more as a raid, while Worth
considered it more of a battle, and thus made the decisions to
increase the number of troops in the assault, and changed it
from a night to a daylight attack.[96] The ensuing
battle was probably the lowest point for Scott’s army through
the entire campaign.
At the cost of 134 killed and
665 wounded, the Americans routed the Mexicans in a frightful
battle that ended around 1900.
They took three cannon as
well, but found none of the cannon molds that were the reason
for the attack.[97]
Not to be neglected, the
American soldiers began to doubt the judgment of their own
leaders.[98]
All of this was due to
friction; Scott issued orders based on erroneous information,
Worth implemented his orders incorrectly, and then Scott
neglected to intervene.[99] In all, the
campaign to Mexican City was a model of military
professionalism, a product of the education, training, and
professional standards which Winfield Scott stamped on the
United States Army.
He was hardly the only one
involved in this prolonged effort; Dennis Hart Mahan and
Sylvanus Thayer certainly deserve as much credit for building
this foundation.
Yet Scott was no passive
observer, but a general who took a very active interest in the
intellectual, theoretical basis of the army.
Largely, it was one centered
on the French school of strategy, itself founded on the works of
Jomini. To help put
Scott's Mexico City into historical perspective, it should be born in ind
that the War of 1812 was a conflict in which American
generalship was a mixed picture of incompetence, complacency,
and flashes of professionalism―much of that provided by a young
Winfield Scott on the Niagara River.[100]
Between then and the onset of
war with Mexico in 1846, the United States had occasion to fight
irregular wars against Native Americans but only one limited
clash with a non-native foe, Andrew Jackson’s campaign against a
weakly-defended and barely-governed Spanish Florida, which was
almost an “outlaw zone,” in the words of H.W. Brands.[101]
Thus while Mexico was not a
European enemy, it could be seen as the only major conventional
foe of the United States between 1815 and 1861. Scott and his
army lived up to far higher standards than that which fought the
British a little over thirty years earlier.
Despite mistakes such as the
Battle of Molino del Rey, and the inevitable intrusion of
friction, it was effective beyond its numbers.
Scott began his campaign with
the largest amphibious operation in American history until World
War II, took a defended port quickly, and then marched on Mexico
City.
There, he had the sense to
step back and allow Nicholas Trist to turn military victory into
a successful political outcome. Though
influenced by Jomini, Scott’s campaign also reflected the
theories of Carl von Clausewitz.
Here though there is no
evidence of influence, only resemblance.
Ultimately, it says more about
Clausewitz and his predictive powers than it does about his
stature, which was non-existent, in the American military
consciousness.
In the coming Civil War, the
Prussian would be further affirmed, as victory for the Union
only came with a belligerence and commitment to total war alien
to Jomini and his disciples.
It would be an overstatement
to say that the Mexican War was America’s first Clausewitzan
conflict.
However, it would be accurate
to state that it was America’s last Jominian war. Winfield
Scott stood through this entire process.
Along with Andrew Jackson and
Jacob Brown, he was one of the few American soldiers to
distinguish himself in the War of 1812.
Staying in the army, he
continued his own professional development, and worked to insure
that younger officers were educated for their profession.
Then he led the decisive
campaign to Mexico City, putting his imprint on that war as both
overall commander of the United States Army, and as an
operational commander.
Shaking off his massive
electoral defeat in 1852, Scott stayed in command as his native
Virginia seceded, helping to formulate the Anaconda Plan at the
core of defeating the Confederacy.[102]
Finally, in July 1861, the old
and now-corpulent general was forced into retirement.[103]
It was the conclusion of one
of America’s most illustrious military careers, one of which had
its finest hours in the Mexican War.
[1]
James McPherson,
Battle Cry of Freedom: The
Civil War Era
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), 3-4.
[2]
Ibid.,
4.
[3]
Timothy J. Henderson,
A Glorious Defeat: Mexico and
its War with the United States
(New York: Hill and Wang, 2007), 84-101.
[4]
Ibid.,
188-189.
[5]
Ibid.,
189-190.
[6]
Ibid.,
77-81.
[7]
John S.D. Eisenhower,
So Far From God: The U.S. War
with Mexico, 1846-1848
(Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2000), 342.
[8]
John S.D. Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny: The Life and
Times of General Winfield Scott
(Norman: University of
Oklahoma Press, 1999), 239-240.
[9]
Ibid.,
246.
[10]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
271-272.
[11]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
261.
[12]
Timothy D. Johnson,
Winfield Scott: The Quest for
Military Glory
(Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1998), 7.
[13]
Alan R. Millett and Peter Maslowski,
For the Common Defense: A
Military History of the United States of America
(New York: The Free Press, 1994), 133-134.
[14]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
52.
[15]
Millett and Maslowski, 133-134.
[16]
Johnson, 12.
[17]
James W. Pohl, “The Influence of Antoine Henri de Jomini
on Winfield Scott’s Campaign of the Mexican War,”
Texas State University Faculty
Publications-History
(1972),
http://ecommons .txstate.edu/histfacp/12, 88.
accessed 18 December
2011.
[18]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
124-125.
[19]
Millett and Maslowski, 133.
[20]
Antoine-Henri Jomini de (trans. G.H. Mendell and W.P.
Craighill),
The Art of War.
The Gutenberg Project.
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/13549/13549-h/13549-h.htm,
66-567.
accessed 18 December
2011.
[21]
David G. Chandler,
The Campaigns of Napoleon: The
Mind and Method of History’s Greatest Soldier
(New York: Scribner, 1966), 133-134.
[22]
Jomini, 26.
[23]
Ibid.,
26-27.
[24]
Carl von Clausewitz (trans. Michael Howard and Peter
Paret),
On War
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), 193.
[25]
Ibid.,
193.
[26]
Ibid.,
75.
[27]
Ibid.,
75-76.
[28]
Jomini, 14-38.
[29]
Clausewitz, 80-81.
[30]
Henderson, 168-169.
[31]
Johnson, 151.
[32]
Winfield Scott,
Memoirs of Lieut.-General
Scott, LL.D.
(Philadelphia: Sheldon & Company, 1864), 382-383.
[33]
Ibid.,
383-384.
[34]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
230-232.
[35]
Ibid.,
229.
[36]
Johnson, 159.
[37]
Ibid.,
159-160.
[38]
Ibid.,
154.
[39]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
90.
[40]
Ibid.,
90.
[41]
Ibid.,
90.
[42]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
328-329.
[43]
Johnson, 213-214.
[44]
Russell McClintock,
Lincoln and the Decision for
War: The Northern Response to Secession
(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008),
64.
[45]
Johnson, 174.
[46]
Richard Berg and Joe Balkoski, “Veracruz: US Invasion of
Mexico, 1847,”
Strategy & Tactics
Issue 63 (July/August 1977), 9.
[47]
Ibid.,
10.
[48]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
238.
[49]
Pohl, 90.
[50]
Berg and Balkoski, 10.
[51]
Ibid.,
7.
[52]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
256-257.
[53]
Jomini, 173.
[54]
Pohl, 92-93.
[55]
Henderson, 115-116.
[56]
Pohl, 92.
[57]
Berg and Balkoski, 9.
[58]
Clausewitz, 198-201.
[59]
Scott, 426.
[60]
Ibid.,
429.
[61]
Clausewitz, 526.
[62]
Pohl, 94.
[63]
Berg and Balkoski, 7.
[64]
Ibid.,
7.
[65]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
266.
[66]
Johnson, 187.
[67]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
266-267.
[68]
Johnson, 187-188.
[69]
Andrew J. Birtle,
U.S. Army Counterinsurgency
and Contingency Operations Doctrine 1860-1941
(Washington: Center of Military History, 2003), 16-17.
[70]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
251.
[71]
Berg and Balkoski, 11.
[72]
Richard Hitchman, “Rush to Glory: An Account of the
Mexican-American War,”
Strategy & Tactics
Issue 127 (June-July 1989), 25-26.
[73]
Ibid.,
60.
[74]
Clausewitz, 204.
[75]
Ibid.,
204.
[76]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
316.
[77]
Clausewitz, 213.
[78]
Ibid.,
178-191.
[79]
Clausewitz, 205.
[80]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
338-342.
[81]
Ibid.,
297-298.
[82]
Berg and Balkoski, 8.
[83]
Mark M. Boatner III,
The Civil War Dictionary
(New York: David McKay, 1988), 653-654.
[84]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
337-338.
[85]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
265.
[86]
Ibid.,
265-266.
[87]
Henderson, 168-169.
[88]
Scott, 415.
[89]
Henderson, 169.
[90]
Ibid.,
172.
[91]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
303-307.
[92]
Clausewitz, 119.
[93]
Eisenhower,
So Far From God,
269.
[94]
Ibid.,
274-275.
[95]
Johnson, 202.
[96]
Berg and Balkoski, 14-15.
[97]
Ibid.,
15.
[98]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
289-291.
[99]
Ibid.,
290.
[100]
Millett and Maslowski, 114.
[101]
H.W. Brands,
Andrew Jackson: His Life and
Times (New York:
Anchor Books, 2005), 322-325.
[102]
Johnson, 226.
[103]
Eisenhower,
Agent of Destiny,
393.
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