A Ballad of Love and Glory(102)

He stood up and waited for her and her companions to stand as well.

“If you won’t free them, then don’t free them. But you don’t have to hang them,” Ximena said as she and the other ladies collected themselves and headed to the door. “They made vows to your country, yes, but your country made vows to them too. And your government broke them first. Tell me, General, where was the good faith that was due to them when they enlisted in your ranks?”



* * *



More well-to-do Mexican citizens followed suit, appealing to Scott on behalf of the San Patricios, and Mexican newspapers published pieces in support of the foreign soldiers. Even padre Sebastián and the other priests helped her to convince the archbishop and prominent foreigners living in Mexico City to try to persuade the Yanqui general to spare the Irish soldiers. Padre Sebastián gave Ximena a copy of the letter that had been delivered to Scott, and in the dim candlelight, she read and reread it, wishing with all her heart that those words penned by the archbishop himself would touch Scott’s heart.

We humbly pray that His Excellency the General-in-Chief of the American forces may be graciously pleased to extend a pardon to Captain John Riley of the Legion of Saint Patrick, and generally speaking to all deserters from the American service. We speak to your Excellency particularly of Riley, as we understand his life to be in most danger, his misconduct might be pardoned by your Excellency as we believe him to have a generous heart admitting all his errors.

Your petitioners therefore repeat that their humble prayer may be granted by your Excellency, and as in duty bound will everyone pray.

She placed the letter on her small altar, at the feet of la Virgen de Guadalupe, and knelt on the floor, praying until her body was numb and her eyes swollen from crying. Only when she felt the fluttering in her belly did she finally get up. The innocent life growing inside her, the product of their love, was reminding her that her duty was not only to John. She needed to remain strong and not succumb to despair.

In the end, the begging, the threats, and the tears were not enough, not enough to save them. Once Scott terminated the armistice, the Mexican elite who had been willing to speak up for John and his men fled the city in haste. The streets were choked with carriages taking the residents out of the capital to their haciendas on the outskirts. She had no one else to turn to.

On September 9, Ximena received a letter from General Scott himself bearing news both hopeful and discouraging.

Unfortunately, duty demands that I uphold the military code and have sentenced the men of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion accordingly. I trust that you will rejoice in learning that in regard to your husband, the death sentence has been rescinded.

Though he had pardoned some San Patricios for various reasons, he had upheld the death sentences of fifty of them. He had also reduced the sentences of fifteen others, including John. Since he had deserted a month before war was officially declared, John had thereby been spared the noose. As she read further, Scott’s words chilled her to the core. Instead of being hanged, John’s punishment would be a public flogging and being branded on the cheek as a deserter. And he would be kept a prisoner as long as the norteamericanos remained in Mexico.

She read the letter again and was relieved that at least he had escaped the death penalty. She and John and their child could still have a future together. But then she worried. Who could say that John wouldn’t die in the process of being whipped or during his incarceration? And what about his men? What toll would their deaths take on his spirit?





39


September 1847

San ángel, outskirts of Mexico City

Riley sat on the dirt floor of the prison cell, listening to the staccato of the pelting rain outside. This rain put him in mind of the mighty torrents that ever and anon swept in from the Atlantic over Clifden, and the thought of his homeland made him ache for his son. He had broken many promises, had made too many people suffer on his account. If only God would allow him to at least fulfill that one promise, just that one—to send for Johnny.

He looked at his men. Some sat on the floor, like him, with their backs against the cold stone walls. Their hands and feet were chained. No one spoke. They just listened to the rain and the sound of one another’s breathing.

But in the spaces between the breaths and the rain, Riley heard another sound. It sent a chill up his spine because he knew what it meant. The sound of a saw cutting into wood. The echoes of a hammer punctuating the night. He got up and walked over to Dalton, who sat musing by the door. It was too dark to see his friend’s face clearly, but Riley could smell his fear.

“I would yield my life for yours if I could, Pat,” Riley said softly. “You know right well I speak in earnest, don’t ya?”

“Nay, I’m a lucky Paddy. I’m goin’ to die a quick death,” Dalton said with a forced laugh. “I don’t begrudge you your sentence, John. I’ve seen men bigger than you get flogged. ’Tis not a pretty sight, to be sure. And the brandin’, well, I would rather swin’ than to be turned into a monster.” Dalton laughed again, and though he had spoken in jest, Riley felt his breath catch in his throat. “Beggin’ your pardon, John, a chara. I didn’t mean that.”

Riley said nothing. He had led his men to their deaths, and now he would be forced to watch them turned into rope dancers. He would never be able to forget it, not if he lived to be a hundred.