A Ballad of Love and Glory(111)

And for what?

No, he mustn’t think that. Even though the war was over, and he knew the Saint Patrick’s Battalion had fought on the losing side, they had still fought on the right side and had proved their mettle. Long ago he’d dreamed that one day he could take the Saint Patrick’s Battalion to Ireland and fight for its independence. But like most of his dreams, perhaps that one was also destined never to be realized.

Their daughter was two months old when Ximena was finally allowed to visit him. The iron bars between them didn’t permit him to hold Patricia, but he could touch her little feet, stroke her black wispy hair, feel her fingers wrap around his. The sight of his daughter was a great comfort to his flagging spirit. When he saw her yawn, he smiled at her little pink mouth formed in an O. Then she opened her eyes and gazed at him, and in the dim light of the torch, her eyes shone like two sapphires.

“My pretty jewel,” he said.

Riley and Ximena stood watching their daughter as she fell asleep, rocking in her mother’s arms. “Beggin’ your pardon I wasn’t there for you, Ximena,” he said. “It grieves me I couldn’t be there by your side to welcome our daughter into the world.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, John. Soon, this will all be over and we will finally be together again. Now that Mexico has officially surrendered—”

“What are you sayin’, lass?”

“You haven’t heard? It happened last week, on February second. It is done. The so-called treaty of ‘peace and friendship’ has been agreed upon in the villa of Guadalupe Hidalgo. Everything Polk desired is now his. Henceforth, we Mexicans must accept the Río Bravo as the legitimate boundary.”

“So the Yanks now own all the land north of the river?”

She nodded. “And New Mexico and Alta California and its ports. Mexico is now half the country it used to be. Imagine that. My rancho is officially in the United States now. The border has crossed me.”

“The land is still yours,” he said.

She scoffed. “You believe they will let me keep it? The Yanquis will do anything in their power to take away the lands of the Mexican families living there, just like they did to us in Texas, mark my words. Those living in the stolen territory will be forced from their homes. We lost the war, John. The new map of Mexico will remind us forever of our terrible loss. Of our country devoured.”

“And Santa Anna? What’s become of him?”

“He’s requested the government’s permission to leave the country and go into exile.”

“With him gone, we’ll be hard-pressed to get the new Mexican leaders to honor the promises made to me and my men,” Riley said. “The war is lost, and not one battle did we win. Not once did we taste the sweetness of glory.”

She reached through the iron bars and grabbed his hand. “We have our love. Our future is the battle that matters most. As long as we have each other, we will win. We can rebuild our lives.”

“I’m still in prison,” he said. “What kind of future can I offer you and Patricia?”

“The treaty requires for the prisoners of war to be freed as soon as it’s ratified. That means you and your men will be released! Do not despair, mi amor. I will wait for you, John Riley. The day you get out of here, our daughter and I will take you home. Soon, we will be together, and together we will decide what our future will be.”



* * *



He thought of her words as time rolled on. In late May, when the Mexican government finally ratified the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo and ceded half its territory to the United States, he felt betrayed. Scott didn’t consider him or the other San Patricios as prisoners of war, and although all other prisoners were released as mandated by the treaty, Riley and his men were transferred yet again to another fortress in the capital—the citadel. A rumor was afloat that the deserters would be sent to New Orleans in due course, whence they would be drummed out of service. Riley gave faith to the rumors. He wanted to be drummed out of service far away from this city, so that Ximena wouldn’t see him being shamed yet again.

On the first of June, Riley awakened to the distant sound of marching footsteps. The door of the cell creaked open, and Lieutenant Gibson, along with some of his infantrymen, marched in.

“On your feet, traitors.”

Riley and the other prisoners scrambled to their feet. He couldn’t take his eyes off the muskets the infantrymen held over their shoulders. “Whither are we bound?” he asked. Could it be true then, that they would be shipped to New Orleans?

“Well, if you aren’t the luckiest Paddies I’ve ever seen,” Gibson said with disdain. “Isn’t that so, boys?”

The infantrymen nodded. One of them spat on the ground.

“If I were in charge, I would have left you here to rot,” Lieutenant Gibson said. Taking out a letter from his pocket, he proceeded to read the men’s names one by one. Hezekiah Akles, John Bartley, Thomas Cassady, John Chambers, John Daly, James Kelly, Alexander McKee, Martin Miles, James Miller, James Mills, Peter O’Brien, John Wilton, Samuel Thomas, Edward Ward, Charles Williams, and John Riley. “The prisoners in confinement at the citadel, known as the San Patricios, will be immediately discharged.”

Riley looked at the men and saw the glee in their eyes. He was the only one not pleased by the news. Discharged immediately? Here, in Mexico City, not New Orleans. He touched his cheeks, then let his long hair fall over his face. Today, I will be released. Today, I will have to face Ximena and the world and whatever fate awaits us.