A Ballad of Love and Glory(105)

40


September 1847

Chapultepec, outskirts of Mexico City

Padre Sebastián had advised her to not go, that she had seen enough. But Ximena knew that if she didn’t, she would always regret it. “Think of your child,” he’d said. “Think of the distress.” But she hadn’t listened. She was John’s wife, and since he couldn’t be there to say goodbye to his men, she would go in his stead.

So the morning of September 13, she accompanied the priest to bid farewell to the remaining San Patricios who had been sentenced to death. The day before, four of them had been hanged in the village of Mixcoac, and now the rest would be as well, while the latest battle of the war was taking place on the grounds of Chapultepec Castle and at the toll gates of the city. Outlined by the golden light of dawn, the twenty-nine San Patricios stood beneath the gallows on mule-drawn carts. Unlike the sixteen men hanged in San ángel, however, these San Patricios didn’t have their heads covered by white hoods. Their feet and hands were bound, but their eyes could plainly see what the Yanks wanted them to see—Chapultepec Castle in the distance, under siege.

Colonel Harney said, “When the American flag flies above that castle, that is when you will meet your fate.”

“You can stick your filthy little rag where the sun don’t shine,” one of the condemned men said.

The San Patricios laughed. Ximena wanted to cry at the sound of their laughter. Even this close to death, the men could still find a reason to laugh, teasing the colonel, trying to rile him up.

Colonel Harney counted out the men. Eight would be facing the muleteers’ whips, just like John had. The other thirty would be hanged. “There are twenty-nine here!” Colonel Harney said as he finished counting the men at the gallows. “Where is the thirtieth?”

“Francis O’Conner is on his deathbed, Colonel. He lost both legs at Churubusco,” one of the officers said.

“My orders are to hang thirty and by God, I’ll do it. Bring him out, now!” Colonel Harney said.

“Aren’t we enough for you, Colonel?” Kerr Delaney said. “You want to see the poor mutilated creature dancin’ a pretty jig for ya, is it? You sick scoundrel.”

“Your country has a crow to pluck with us, true enough, but there’s no need to subject the poor little fella to this manner of torture, Colonel. Let him be,” another San Patricio said.

Despite the protests, two Yanqui officers returned carrying Francis O’Conner on a litter. He was unconscious, for which Ximena was thankful. With his missing legs, he was the height of a small child. In horror, she watched as they placed him on a wagon and then lowered the noose around his neck after they lengthened the rope.

“Our Lord have mercy,” padre Sebastián said as he placed a hand on Ximena. She reached to support the old priest. Feeling weak herself, her heart began to beat rapidly, making her dizzy, but she needed to be strong.

“And they say we are the barbarians, padre,” she said.

Amid the protests of the San Patricios and the Mexicans who had come out to watch the execution, Colonel Harney read General Order 283. “And now we wait,” he said as he finished. “When our beloved flag unfurls in the wind, I will swing you all into eternity.”

“I can’t bear this, padrecito,” Ximena said.

“Be strong, hija mía. Now more than ever, we all need to seek strength from our Lord.”

The morning mist dissipated, and the sun beat down on them. She could hear the blasting of cannons and the staccato of muskets in the distance. The wind carried the screams of the dying, and Ximena felt a pang of guilt as she remembered that her place should be at the field hospital, tending to the injured. But how could she not be here as well?

“The castle won’t fall,” she told padre Sebastián. They peered through the smoke of the cannons as the battle raged on. Chapultepec Castle was supposed to be an impregnable fortress, but as she witnessed the Yankee bombs exploding on its roof, she realized that its soundness had been an illusion.

The priest patted her hand and said nothing. She could tell he was getting tired. Over an hour now they had stood, waiting for the fighting to cease. She had offered to lead him to some shade under a tree, but padre Sebastián had stayed put near the gallows. He would be administering the last rites, and his presence, along with those of the other priests in attendance, offered much comfort to the doomed men.

Another hour passed, and Ximena didn’t know how much longer she could bear it. But the San Patricios were still standing at the gallows with the sun beating hard on them. They had been given no water. Flies and mosquitos pestered them, and they could do nothing about it.

Eventually, the outcome of the battle became clear. Mexican soldiers were escaping through the smoke, the Yanquis in pursuit. Even from where she stood, Ximena could see that it wouldn’t be long before the castle fell. The Yanquis were scaling the walls with ladders, and soon, even the castle gates were breached.

“Padre, the cadets!” Ximena yelled, thinking about the boys in the military college, some as young as thirteen. “Will they be killed?”

Padre Sebastián looked at her and said nothing, but clearly he was also worried about the children inside the castle walls. What if the Yanquis showed them no mercy?

“It is time, hija,” he said with a sigh. He left her side and walked down to join the other priests. They approached the men at the gallows and began to administer the last rites.