VICKSBURG Chapter Eighty

The citizens of Mexico City  (above) had been hearing echoes of the bugles from the approaching  Chasseurs de Vincinnes for a week.  It was their looming threat which drove the 12,000 defenders of the Mexican Republic to abandon their capital on the last day of May.   If the “Hunters of Vincinnes” had pushed, they could have sauntered into the capital that, Saturday, 1, June, 1863.  

Instead they took their time. The campaign had already been set back a year by recklessness and arrogance. This time French General Élie Frédéric Forey was taking nothing for granted. He judged it better for the residents of the Mexican capital to sniff the rot of anarchy first. After which the boot about to be applied to their necks, would seem a welcomed stability.

In the beginning it had all been about money. Having been forced to an expensive suppression of an 1860 rebellion by the wealthy and the church, the new reform President Benito Juarez, declared a 2 year moratorium on international debt payments. But the bankers in London, Madrid and Paris were not interested in the stability of Mexico. They dispatched ships and troops to seize the Gulf of Mexico port of Veracruz, to use as leverage.

United States bankers had also made loans to the Juarez government, and the aggrieved Europeans offered to include American debt in their ransom for Veracruz. American Secretary of State William Seward (above) might have invoked the 40 year old Monroe Doctrine.  Mexico clearly fit its definition of a government, “...who have declared their independence and maintained it, and whose independence we have... acknowledged...” In such cases the United States was supposed to see any foreign intervention “... for the purpose of oppressing them, or controlling...their destiny...as the manifestation of an unfriendly disposition toward the United States.”

Several other beneficiaries of the Monroe Doctrine - recently liberated colonies in south and central America – sought United States leadership in a unified resistance to the Mexican intervention. And the mind boggles at the possible future of the western hemisphere if that option had been explored. But such a course of action never had a chance of being taken. The slave states' bloody Götterdämmerung precluded such a gradual political evolution on anybody's part.

The United States was consumed by a civil war costing its 19 million northern citizens $2.5 million dollars - in 1863 -  and 133 lives on average, every day.   Given that distraction, Seward and Lincoln could only respond to the European offer with a “thanks, but no thanks”, and a bit of groveling. “The President does not feel himself at liberty to question, and he does not question, that the sovereigns....have the undoubted right to decide...whether they have sustained grievances, and to resort to war with Mexico for the redress thereof...”

Both Lincoln and Seward also seemed to understand that the 3 nation alliance was unlikely to hold together for long. And even before the shooting started in the Charleston harbor, Charles-Louis Napoléon Bonaparte, aka Napoleon III Emperor of France, showed that he was more interested in empire building than in debt collecting.  The still young Queen Victoria was  driven lecture her own foreign minister, “The conduct of the French is everywhere disgraceful. Let us only have nothing to do with them in future.”

It did not matter. When his allies pulled out of the alliance early in 1862, Napoleon carried on alone, pushing the 6,000 man army of the smug, certain Charles-Ferdinand Latrille, Comte de Lorencez (above) , up the 250 mile invasion route previously followed by Cortés. 

First he marched southwest to the town of Cotaxla on the Rio Jamapa. Then up that river to Cordoba. Another single days march took Lorencez's army to the Metlac River. 

Crossing this and turning southwest, brought him to the village of Orizaba, at the foot of the Acultzingo pass, squeezed between 10,000 foot summits. On 27 April, 1862, Lorencez pushed aside a Mexican force there, and gained access to the central “cold country”, where his men need no longer fear malaria.

By 5 May, 1862, Lorencez was facing the highland city of Peubla, founded by Franciscan monks. The local landowners and clergy assured the Comte that the city would eagerly surrender.  But the local peasants volunteered to defend their republic. Their commander, 33 year old General Ignacio Zaragoza, told his men, ““Our enemies may be the world’s best soldiers, but you are the best sons of Mexico”.

Two times the French artillery pummeled the forts and three times the infantry attacked. And 3 times the Mexican peasant soldiers threw them back. 

Then, as the exhausted French retreated the last time, Zaragoza unleashed the young Porfirio Diaz and his 650 lancers. 

Without artillery support, the French were scattered and driven back in confusion. Only a sudden thunderstorm which turned the battlefield into mud, and an unexpected escarpment, blocking the Mexican cavalry, saved the French army.

The French admitted to 460 causalities, the Mexican's half that number. Cinco de Mayo became a Mexican national holiday, and the city was renamed Puebla de Zaragoza. The French retreated 90 miles back to the pass before Orizaba, where the Comte Lorencez contracted malaria. And then in September, reinforcements arrived from France, including the 59 year old professional General Forey. The fever stricken Comte Lorencez returned home.

This time Forey's army was 24,000 men strong. This time they were accompanied by 2,000 Mexican imperialist soldiers. This time the 22,000 Mexican Republicans defending Peubla were without the genius of General Zaragoza, who died typhoid fever in February of 1863. And this time, in March, the French army surrounded the town. By 16 May, 1863 – just as Grant was grasping the city of Vicksburg in his hands - the defenders of Peubla were starved into surrender. They laid down their guns and went home. The next day, the Chasseurs de Vincinnes began a slow careful march on Mexico city.

First they turned northwest to Santa Rita, on the Rio Tlahuapan. Westward was the village of Rio Frio de Juarz , which sat at the eastern edge of the El Guardio pass, between Monte Taloc and the strato-volcano Iztaccihuati. In front of the hunters was now is the plain of Mexico City. But keeping the Cinco de Mayo of 1862 in mind, General Forey (above)  remained cautious. 

Not until 10 June, 1863, did the French army paraded through the streets of the Mexican capital. They crossed under an endless series of flowered triumphal arches, at almost every street corner. Bells rang from every cathedral and church. Priests and nuns were singing hosannas all along the parade route. The wealthy landowners and the professional businessmen were cheering. But the peasants continued to resist.

Secretary Seward was of the opinion that “...the destinies of the American continent are not to be permanently controlled by the political arrangements...in the capitals of Europe.” Moreover, he felt certain the Mexican people would never accept the imported younger brother of an Austrian Archduke as their Emperor, particularly when that choice was dictated by the Emperor of France (above). And America refused to recognize the French backed government of Ferdinand Maximilian. Worse, no European government was willing to finance the French intervention.

Meanwhile, Seward calculated the United States could prolong France's Mexican intervention through loans to the Mexican state, at least until America would “... be able to rise without great effort to the new duties which in that case will have devolved upon us.” In other words, as soon as the rebellion of the slave states had been defeated.

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GREAT EXPECTATIONS Chapter Four

I suppose the luckiest moment in the history of Phoenix, Arizona occurred when the first settlers decided to reject the suggestion of its founder,  Jack Swilling,  that they should name the new town “Stonewall”, after the Confederate General "Stonewall Jackson".  Instead they listened to the more educated voice of Phillip Darrell Duppa, an Englishman who had been versed in the classics. Phillip liked to call himself “Lord Duppa”,  a  title delivered with a self depreciating grin. The limey  had the romantic idea that the ugly little adobe town founded between the White Tank Mountains and the Salt River was a place of rebirth, a spot where new life could rise from the ashes of the old, like the Phoenix Bird. And that appealed to the survivors of the Civil War, from both sides. On the other hand it was bad luck when James Reavis stepped off the California stagecoach in Phoenix, to raise the Peralta Land Grant from its ashes.

Phoenix was not legally a town yet when Reavis arrived in April of 1880. That would happen in February of the following year. But already the town had almost 2,500 citizens, a couple of churches, a school on Center Street, 16 saloons, four dance halls, a bank and a telegraph line connection to the outside world. And Huntington and Cooke's  railroad was already reaching out from San Diego, although it had not reach the town yet. But James Reavis showed no interest in any of that. He told people he was a subscription agent for the San Francisco Examiner, but he sold very few subscriptions. He read the local paper, he listened when people talked , and he gauged the spirit of the place. He even traveled the 15 miles out to where the seasonal Salt River and the perennial Gila Rivers met, and clambered about over the hills for an hour or so. On his return to town, he boarded the stagecoach for the terrible one hundred mile journey north, into the mountains, to the territorial capital of Prescott.

Repeated conflagrations had forced the mining town of less than 2,000 to begin building in brick, including a new court house (above).  It was in that building in May of 1880 that James Reavis presented a letter from George’s Willing's widow, granting him authority to act in her name and take possession of the bill of sale for the Peralta land grant. And once he had this bill of sale in his hand, James caught the next coach bound for San Francisco.

Once back in San Franciso, Reavis now oversaw an English translation of  the Royal Credula -  “The King's Debt” - the land grant supposedly made by the Spanish King. This had of course originally been written in English, by Reavis' conspirators back in St. Louis. But now Reavis had actually seen the land, and could make minor changes in the translation to reflect the actual terrain.  

After discussions with Huntington and Crocker, James Reavis decided to expand the size of the grant, placing its very center at the confluence of the Salt and Gila rivers,.which he had visited on his day trip. Contained within the grant now were the towns of Phoenix, Tempe and Casa Granda. Fifty miles east, and still covered by the grant, was the richest claim in the territory, the Silver King Mine, producing $10,000 out of every ton of ore pried from its tunnels. Reavis added a helpful note from the powerful Inquisition of New Spain, dated 1757, assuring the Viceroy there was no impediment to the grant, and a statement from the lucky recipient, Don Miguel de Peralta, himself, dated 1758, which defined the western boundary so as to reach all the way to Silver City, New Mexico territory, and the silver deposits under Chloride Flats north of there. Preparing this new old paperwork took the entire winter of 1880-81.

In July of 1881 Reavis finally made it to Sacramento, to repay Florin Massaol and get his hands on the mineral rights George Willing had pawned back in 1874.  In the end, however, Massaol was so impressed by the people backing Reavis, the forger got what he wanted for only the cost of a railroad ticket. All he had to do was sign yet another promissory note, agreeing to pay Massol $3,000 if and when the Peralta grant was confirmed by an American court. In exchange Massaol signed over power of attorney on the mineral rights to Reavis  That's all Reavis wanted, anyway. It as not as if he had any intention of ever digging for gold or silver himself.

Reavis then boarded a train for Washington, D.C., seeking the record book of the Mission San Xavier del Bac, located just south of Phoenix, Arizona, and a benchmark used for the grant. The book had been the territories' contribution to the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in 1876. After the Exhibition had closed, the book along with other exhibits, had been moved to Washington. It was still there, and Reavis was permitted access to the book because of his contacts with wealthy Californians. Had the book still been in Arizona such “friends” might have been a source of suspicion, but in far off Washington the other rule about museum curators came into play - they never miss an opportunity to impress a potential wealthy patron. Reavis was allowed to spend several days in private,  going over the book. In September he continued his odyssey in Mexico City, and then on to Guadalajara..

In both Mexican cities James Reavis bonded with the archivists, the librarians and probate clerks in charge of the documents and records he needed. He told them he was a correspondent for San Francisco newspapers, looking for stories about the roots of California families, and probably paid them for small “favors” he received. And when he returned to California in late November of 1881, he had photographs of the documents, as well as typed translations and certified copies, all paid for by his wealthy investors. Six months later he was in Lexington, Kentucky, agreeing to pay George Willings widow, May Ann, $30,000 for the free and clear ownership of the Peralta grant – 50% more than George had paid for it in 1863 – a transaction which, in reality, had never taken place.

This proves again the central rule of capitalism, which is that everything has a value, defined as what people are willing to pay for what they want. And in most capitalist endeavors, the first step is to create the want. And that is what James Reavis was about to begin doing.

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GREAT EXPECTATIONS Part Four

I suppose the luckiest moment in the history of Phoenix, Arizona occurred when the first settlers decided to reject the suggestion of its founder,  Jack Swilling,  that they should name the new town “Stonewall”, after the Confederate General "Stonewall Jackson".  Instead they listened to the more educated voice of Phillip Darrell Duppa, an Englishman who had been versed in the classics. Phillip liked to call himself “Lord Duppa”,  a  title delivered with a self depreciating grin. The limey  had the romantic idea that the ugly little adobe town founded between the White Tank Mountains and the Salt River was a place of rebirth, a spot where new life could rise from the ashes of the old, like the Phoenix Bird. And that appealed to the survivors of the Civil War, from both sides. On the other hand it was bad luck when James Reavis stepped off the California stagecoach in Phoenix, to raise the Peralta Land Grant from its ashes.

Phoenix was not legally a town yet when Reavis arrived in April of 1880. That would happen in February of the following year. But already the town had almost 2,500 citizens, a couple of churches, a school on Center Street, 16 saloons, four dance halls, a bank and a telegraph line connection to the outside world. And Huntington and Cooke's  railroad was already reaching out from San Diego, although it had not reach the town yet. But James Reavis showed no interest in any of that. He told people he was a subscription agent for the San Francisco Examiner, but he sold very few subscriptions. He read the local paper, he listened when people talked , and he gauged the spirit of the place. He even traveled the 15 miles out to where the seasonal Salt River and the perennial Gila Rivers met, and clambered about over the hills for an hour or so. On his return to town, he boarded the stagecoach for the terrible one hundred mile journey north, into the mountains, to the territorial capital of Prescott.

Repeated conflagrations had forced the mining town of less than 2,000 to begin building in brick, including a new court house (above).  It was in that building in May of 1880 that James Reavis presented a letter from George’s Willing's widow, granting him authority to act in her name and take possession of the bill of sale for the Peralta land grant. And once he had this bill of sale in his hand, James caught the next coach bound for San Francisco.

Once back in San Franciso, Reavis now oversaw an English translation of  the Royal Credula -  “The King's Debt” - the land grant supposedly made by the Spanish King. This had of course originally been written in English, by Reavis' conspirators back in St. Louis. But now Reavis had actually seen the land, and could make minor changes in the translation to reflect the actual terrain.  

After discussions with Huntington and Crocker, James Reavis decided to expand the size of the grant, placing its very center at the confluence of the Salt and Gila rivers,.which he had visited on his day trip. Contained within the grant now were the towns of Phoenix, Tempe and Casa Granda. Fifty miles east, and still covered by the grant, was the richest claim in the territory, the Silver King Mine, producing $10,000 out of every ton of ore pried from its tunnels. Reavis added a helpful note from the powerful Inquisition of New Spain, dated 1757, assuring the Viceroy there was no impediment to the grant, and a statement from the lucky recipient, Don Miguel de Peralta, himself, dated 1758, which defined the western boundary so as to reach all the way to Silver City, New Mexico territory, and the silver deposits under Chloride Flats north of there. Preparing this new old paperwork took the entire winter of 1880-81.

In July of 1881 Reavis finally made it to Sacramento, to repay Florin Massaol and get his hands on the mineral rights George Willing had pawned back in 1874.  In the end, however, Massaol was so impressed by the people backing Reavis, the forger got what he wanted for only the cost of a railroad ticket. All he had to do was sign yet another promissory note, agreeing to pay Massol $3,000 if and when the Peralta grant was confirmed by an American court. In exchange Massaol signed over power of attorney on the mineral rights to Reavis  That's all Reavis wanted, anyway. It as not as if he had any intention of ever digging for gold or silver himself.

Reavis then boarded a train for Washington, D.C., seeking the record book of the Mission San Xavier del Bac, located just south of Phoenix, Arizona, and a benchmark used for the grant. The book had been the territories' contribution to the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in 1876. After the Exhibition had closed, the book along with other exhibits, had been moved to Washington. It was still there, and Reavis was permitted access to the book because of his contacts with wealthy Californians. Had the book still been in Arizona such “friends” might have been a source of suspicion, but in far off Washington the other rule about museum curators came into play - they never miss an opportunity to impress a potential wealthy patron. Reavis was allowed to spend several days in private,  going over the book. In September he continued his odyssey in Mexico City, and then on to Guadalajara..

In both Mexican cities James Reavis bonded with the archivists, the librarians and probate clerks in charge of the documents and records he needed. He told them he was a correspondent for San Francisco newspapers, looking for stories about the roots of California families, and probably paid them for small “favors” he received. And when he returned to California in late November of 1881, he had photographs of the documents, as well as typed translations and certified copies, all paid for by his wealthy investors. Six months later he was in Lexington, Kentucky, agreeing to pay George Willings widow, May Ann, $30,000 for the free and clear ownership of the Peralta grant – 50% more than George had paid for it in 1863 – a transaction which, in reality, had never taken place.

This proves again the central rule of capitalism, which is that everything has a value, defined as what people are willing to pay for what they want. And in most capitalist endeavors, the first step is to create the want. And that is what James Reavis was about to begin doing.

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