The Battle of Buena Vista - Mexican American War

The Battle of Buena Vista - Mexican American War The Battle of Buena Vista took place on  February 23, 1847 and was a hard-fought battle between the invading US army, commanded by General Zachary Taylor, and the Mexican army, led by General Antonio Là ³pez de Santa Anna. Taylor had been fighting his way southwest into Mexico from the border when most of his troops were reassigned to a separate invasion to be led by General Winfield Scott. Santa Anna, with a much larger force, felt he could crush Taylor and re-take northern Mexico. The battle was bloody, but inconclusive, with  both sides claiming it as a victory. General Taylors March Hostilities had broken out between Mexico and the USA in 1846. American General Zachary Taylor, with a well-trained army, had scored major victories at the Battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma near the US/Mexico border and had followed up with the successful siege of Monterrey in September of 1846. After Monterrey, he moved south and took Saltillo. The central command in the USA then decided to send a separate invasion of Mexico via Veracruz and many of Taylors best units were reassigned. By early 1847 he had only some 4,500 men, many of them untested volunteers. Santa Annas Gambit General Santa Anna, recently welcomed back to Mexico after living in exile in Cuba, swiftly raised an army of 20,000 men, many of whom were trained professional soldiers. He marched north, hoping to crush Taylor. It was a risky move, as by then he was aware of Scott’s planned invasion from the east. Santa Anna rushed his men north, losing many to attrition, desertion and illness along the way. He even outpaced his supply lines: his men had not eaten for 36 hours when they met the Americans in battle. General Santa Anna  promised them American supplies after their victory. The Battlefield at Buena Vista Taylor learned of Santa Annas advance and deployed in a defensive position near the Buena Vista ranch a few miles to the south of Saltillo. There, the Saltillo road was flanked on one side by a plateau accessed by several small ravines. It was a good defensive position, although Taylor had to spread his men thinly to cover it all and he had little in the way of reserves. Santa Anna and his army arrived on February 22: he sent Taylor a note demanding surrender as the soldiers skirmished. Taylor predictably refused and the men spent a tense night near the enemy. The Battle of Buena Vista Begins Santa Anna launched his attack the following day. His plan of attack was direct: he would send his best forces against the Americans along the plateau, using the ravines for cover when he could. He also sent an attack along the main road to keep as much of Taylor’s force as possible occupied. By noon the battle was progressing in favor of the Mexicans: volunteer forces in the American center on the plateau had buckled, allowing the Mexicans to take some ground and direct fire into the American flanks. Meanwhile, a large force of Mexican cavalry was making their way around, hoping to surround the American army. Reinforcements reached the American center just in time, however, and the Mexicans were driven back. The Battle  Ends The Americans enjoyed a healthy advantage in terms of artillery: their cannons had carried the day at the battle of Palo Alto earlier in the war and they were again crucial at Buena Vista. The Mexican attack stalled, and the American artillery began pounding the Mexicans, wreaking havoc and causing massive loss of life. Now it was the Mexicans’ turn to break and retreat. Jubilant, the Americans gave chase and were very nearly trapped and destroyed by the massive Mexican reserves. As dusk fell, the weapons went silent with neither side disengaging; most of the Americans thought the battle would be resumed the next day. Aftermath of the Battle The battle had ended, however. During the night, the Mexicans disengaged and retreated: they were battered and hungry and Santa Anna didnt think they would hold for another round of combat. The Mexicans took the brunt of the losses: Santa Anna had lost 1,800 killed or wounded and 300 captured. The Americans had lost 673 officers and men with  another 1,500 or so  deserting. Both sides hailed Buena Vista as a victory. Santa Anna sent glowing dispatches back to Mexico City describing a triumph with thousands of American dead left on the battlefield. Meanwhile, Taylor claimed victory, as his forces had held the battlefield and driven off the Mexicans. Buena Vista was the last major battle in northern Mexico. The American army would remain without taking  further offensive action, pinning their hopes for victory on Scotts planned invasion of Mexico City. Santa Anna had taken his best shot at Taylors army: he would now move south and try and hold off Scott. For the Mexicans, Buena Vista was a disaster. Santa Anna, whose ineptitude as a general has become legendary, actually had a good plan: had he crushed Taylor as  he planned, Scotts invasion might have been recalled. Once the battle started, Santa Anna put the right men in the right places to succeed: had he committed his reserves to the weakened part of the American line on the plateau he might have had his victory. If the Mexicans had won, the entire course of the Mexican-American War may well have changed. It was probably the Mexicans best chance to win a large-scale battle in the war, but they failed to do so. As a historical note, the St. Patricks Battalion, a Mexican artillery unit comprised largely of defectors from the United States Army (mainly Irish and German Catholics, but other nationalities were represented), fought with distinction against their former comrades. The San Patricios, as they were called, formed an elite artillery unit charged with supporting the ground offensive on the plateau. They fought very well, taking out American artillery placements, supporting the infantry advance and later covering a retreat. Taylor sent an elite squad of dragoons after them but they were driven back by withering cannon fire. They were instrumental in capturing two pieces of US artillery, later used by Santa Anna to declare the battle a victory. It would not be the last time that the San Patricios caused great trouble for the Americans. Sources Eisenhower, John S.D. So Far from God: the U.S. War with Mexico, 1846-1848. Norman: the University of Oklahoma Press, 1989 Henderson, Timothy J. A Glorious Defeat: Mexico and its War with the United States.New York: Hill and Wang, 2007. Hogan, Michael. The Irish Soldiers of Mexico. Createspace, 2011. Scheina, Robert L. Latin Americas Wars, Volume 1: The Age of the Caudillo 1791-1899 Washington, D.C.: Brasseys Inc., 2003. Wheelan, Joseph. Invading Mexico: Americas Continental Dream and the Mexican War, 1846-1848. New York: Carroll and Graf, 2007.

And The Winner Is… Orange Bubble Power!

And The Winner Is†¦ Orange Bubble Power! And The Winner Is Orange Bubble Power! And The Winner Is Orange Bubble Power! By Daniel Scocco The Short Story Competition 2 has finally come to an end. The voting session last week was pretty interesting, with different stories taking the lead in different days, and in the end Orange Bubble Power won. Congratulations to Violet Toler! Both Violet and Easton Miller, the runner up, will get a free license to the executive edition of the WhiteSmoke writing software, which costs $310. Thanks WhiteSmoke for sponsoring the event as well. Finally, a big thank you to all the readers who supported the competition with their votes and comments. Below you will find the winning story once again. Orange Bubble Power by Violet Toler I love to write. I hate housework. However, some mundane chores just won’t wait. One look at the bathroom sink caused me to grab my trusty Orange Bubble Power Wipes dispenser. Too bad those cute little scrubbing bubbles from the commercial aren’t real. I’d love to let them do the job while I compose the next NY Times best seller. Might as well get it over, I thought, as I hurriedly opened the lid and snatched at the wipe. The tip tore off in my hand. Irritated, I pulled on the stub more forcefully this time. It ripped again. Grabbing the last smidgen that barely peeked through the slit, I yanked hard. Out came the rest of the wipe–unattached from the rest of the roll. The second wipe should have fed through the X-shaped cut in the plastic top. It didn’t. Impatiently I jerked the lid off to feed the darn wipe through from the underside. The orange lid was stiff and unyielding. â€Å"I don’t have time for this!† I grumbled. Accentuating my words with action, I vigorously crammed the wipe out the other side. That’s when my troubles began. One-half inch of my index finger now protruded through the hole with half a wipe. A stream of Orange Bubble Power Wipes drooped between my hand and the open container on the hamper. Try as I might, I couldn’t get free. I tugged and the blasted lid worked like Chinese handcuffs. The harder I pulled, the tighter it stuck. I twisted and turned, but remained trapped. Every movement sucked my fingertip in tighter still. Within minutes, sharp V-shaped points were digging into my flesh cutting off circulation. How humiliating. This situation was far beneath my dignity. After all, I was a professional woman. I couldn’t allow anyone to see me like this, especially Stephen, my proper gentleman husband. I was determined to solve this problem by myself in privacy. God knows I tried. I lathered my finger with soap. I pried. I twisted. I pulled. Nothing helped. Oh, gosh durn, I thought, this hideous contraption is going to eat me alive! Orange Bubble Power indeed! I wondered if my finger was only an appetizer for this plastic vampire. It appeared voracious. Panicked, I swallowed my pride and called for help. My urgent tone brought Stephen down the stairs two at a time. He burst through the bathroom door, out of breath. When I saw his concerned expression, I regretted frightening him. However, as he surveyed the situation, worry fell off his face so fast, I swear I heard it hit the floor. His dignified manner disappeared as his lips twitched, then his whole face rippled as he broke into laughter. This was no mere grin or snicker, but was a total knee-slapping belly laugh. I stood there, annoyed, humiliated, and in pain. He finally regained his composure, held my finger tight, and tried to unscrew the lid, so to speak. His plan went awry. So did my usually mild demeanor as I told him what I thought of his attempt. He poured half a bottle of liquid soap and some cooking oil over my finger. It added goop to the mess, but didn’t penetrate the orange grip of death. Imagining the worst, it dawned on me that my finger could die without blood. For all I knew, I could be facing amputation! Panicked, I ran through the house for my sewing shears. Ten feet of Bubble Power Wipes streamed behind like crepe paper from a Main Street parade. The empty container rolled onto the floor with a thump. With my left hand, I grabbed the scissors and tried to cut myself free. No luck. Stephen took over, but my scissors couldn’t grip the slimy lid. We tried again after rinsing, but the rigid material was unrelenting. So was the pain! Stephen headed for his basement workshop for tin snips leaving me helpless and alone for what seemed an eternity. By this point, I was ready to stoop to just about anything. I seriously considered dialing 911 with my good hand, all the while picturing the Jaws-of-Life rushing to my rescue. Stephen finally returned. I wailed shamelessly as he snipped at the blasted lid. Jagged points bit deeper with every clip. After several distressing snips, he pried the plastic apart and set me free. My poor finger had four pointed indentations that resembled tooth marks and a bloodlessly white tip. Other than that, I had escaped the Orange demon. My hero tried to manage a straight face. â€Å"What on God’s green earth were you trying to do?† â€Å"Believe me,† I pronounced grimly, â€Å"Those Scrubbing Bubbles may look cute on TV, singing their little high-pitched song, but don’t let them fool you. Those sweet grins hide sharp, powerful, orange teeth that are just waiting to attack! Lucky for me, you were here. They would have done their dirty deed, wiped up the mess, and you’d have never known what became of me.† He left the room muttering something about finding a support group for husbands of imaginative writers. Me? I headed for the computer to write this story one-handed. Want to improve your English in five minutes a day? Get a subscription and start receiving our writing tips and exercises daily! Keep learning! 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