No matter how the Americans dressed up the Battle of Texas, they couldn't change its true nature as an act of aggression. So Franz decided to lend a hand.
The Americans' method of subverting Texas wasn't particularly clever. They diluted the local Mexican population through mass immigration, like boiling a frog in warm water. By the time the Mexican government noticed, the number of American immigrants already exceeded the Mexican population.
The newly arrived American immigrants constantly clashed with the Native Americans and Mexicans over water and land. The Mexican government had no choice but to act, issuing a new law that prohibited American immigrants from entering.
But Texas was sparsely populated, and the Americans had no intention of obeying the law, so Mexico's "Immigration Prohibition Act" was nothing but a scrap of paper.
In 1824, under intense pressure from the Catholic Church at home, Mexico abolished slavery. By 1830, there were no slaves left anywhere in Mexico proper—except in Texas.
The American immigrants had no intention of obeying Mexican law. They continued establishing plantations and buying Black slaves wherever they went.
For the American immigrants of that era, being ordered to free their slaves was unacceptable.
After all, before the end of the Civil War, slaves were a key pillar of the American South's economy.
Cutting off someone's livelihood was like killing their parents. A war between the Mexicans and these American slaveholders was inevitable.
By 1835, seeing that the time was ripe, the Americans simply incited Texas to declare independence.
Afterward, the Mexican president led an expedition in person, only to suffer heavy losses at the Alamo. He was even captured at the Battle of San Jacinto and forced to sign the Treaty of Velasco, recognizing Texas's independence.
The Americans' superior military strength and social organization were certainly reasons for Mexico's crushing defeat. But the Mexicans hadn't been entirely without a chance. They should at least have been able to make the Americans bleed.
On January 1, 1836, Mexican President Santa Anna decided to lead an expedition to Texas.
"Mr. President! Mr. President! You have a letter!"
Rouvel, Santa Anna's newly appointed vice president, called out anxiously.
"Rouvel, you're vice president now, not my messenger. As a high-ranking official, you should act like one."
"Yes, sir!"
Rouvel had followed Santa Anna ever since becoming his messenger. He was Santa Anna's most trusted subordinate.
Santa Anna was, at heart, a soldier. He had little interest in politics, but a keen appetite for power. That didn't stop him from handing all affairs of state to his former vice president, Farias, while he retreated to the barracks and played general.
Once Farias had obtained presidential power, he wanted to make his mark. First, he launched a series of government projects. Then he cut the military budget, raised taxes, and restricted the Church's power, leaving the treasury empty and the people grumbling.
At last, under pressure from the military, the Church, and the people, Santa Anna had no choice but to remove Farias and replace him with his lieutenant, Lieutenant General Rouvel.
Yet this Lieutenant General Rouvel was nothing more than a former messenger—and he rarely got this worked up.
Santa Anna grew curious about who had sent the letter.
"Who's it from? Let me guess. Andrew Jackson?"
"No, sir. It's from the royal family."
"The royal family?"
"The royal family of the Austrian Empire, sir."
Santa Anna took the letter with some excitement. It was signed by Archduke Franz Karl.
"You may go, sir."
"Yes, yes, Mr. President!"
After Rouvel left, Santa Anna gazed at the letter, his excitement growing. It began, "My dear brother, Santa Anna."
Santa Anna had joined the Mexican War of Independence at the age of sixteen. He first served in the Spanish army, then joined the rebels. In 1829, after stubbornly resisting the Spanish in their final invasion, he was hailed as a national hero.
After Mexico's victory, some even called him "the Savior of Mexico." But Santa Anna modestly replied, "I am the Napoleon of North America."
At that time, Europeans regarded all of North America—Mexico and the United States alike—as a land of barbarians. Earning European recognition was no easy feat.
And now a member of the Austrian royal family was calling Santa Anna his brother. After Napoleon III came to power, he had waited a long time for European nations to recognize him. The Tsar had even deliberately insulted him by calling him "my friend."
Santa Anna felt as thrilled as the Japanese had been when Wokoku was granted the name "Japan."
After opening the letter, he read a couple of paragraphs and felt overjoyed. In his heart, he had already accepted Archduke Franz Karl as his own brother, born of different parents.
For someone as proud as this, the first thing to do was flatter him.
Franz praised Mexico's abolition of slavery, commended Santa Anna for his achievements over the years, and strongly condemned the aggressive actions of American immigrants.
These were exactly the words Santa Anna had hoped to hear. He was already preparing to send an envoy to Austria to establish diplomatic relations.
Santa Anna continued reading, but the words that followed left him utterly shocked.
They described Mexico's current state: factions were rampant, the country was fractured, the treasury was running dry, its military was woefully undermanned, and its weapons were outdated antiques. Most importantly, there was a traitor in his own ranks.
Franz's claim that there was an American spy among Santa Anna's men was his own speculation.
After all, the Battle of San Jacinto had been far too suspicious. Leaving aside how the Americans had managed to cut off the Mexicans' retreat without being noticed and then launch a successful surprise attack in broad daylight—
Even the fact that the Americans had so easily learned Santa Anna's route was suspicious.
There were no mobile phones or telephones back then. Most messages had to be carried by people.
The message had to reach the camp, the troops had to be assembled, the infantry had to arrive, the enemy's retreat had to be cut off, and only then could the surprise attack begin.
In the end, the Mexican army lost 700 men, while the Texan army suffered 11 dead and 28 wounded.
If all of that was a coincidence, the odds were far too low.
Franz was certain there had to be a spy among Santa Anna's men. And whether there were dates on the tree or not, it couldn't hurt to swing a couple of times. What if he hit something?
As for the rampant factions, the divided country, the empty treasury, and the woefully undermanned military, those were simply Mexico's reality.
Santa Anna fell silent in thought. He trusted his men, but the fact that an archduke thousands of miles away in Europe knew the state of his country so well gave him reason to doubt how well his subordinates were keeping secrets.
Finally, Franz offered a solution: win over the Catholic Church, build good relations with the media, and accept Austria's offer to sell Mexico 20,000 rifles, send two military observers, and provide a professional tabloid editor.
Thanks to Shenzhou Buwu Tianxia Fengdao for the tip, and thanks to book friends 20190202101700627, Bu Bu Bu Ka, He Ha He, and Shenzhou Buwu Tianxia Fengdao for their monthly tickets, as well as to all the readers for their support.
I got home late today, so I'm afraid there'll only be two chapters.
Before you continue