A Ballad of Love and Glory(28)
“They would be executed, I assume,” Carmen said.
As she followed Carmen back into the house, Ximena turned to glance at the plaza once more, wondering about those foreign soldiers who were willing to risk their lives to help defend her country.
10
April 1846
Matamoros, Río Grande
Just as morning’s review ended, the new brigadier general summoned Riley to his headquarters. In the last twelve days since he’d joined their ranks, Riley had been busy helping train the gunners not just to operate the cannons but to maneuver them around the field. Unfortunately, the cannons in the Mexican arsenal were twenty-year-old relics, and some were obsolete. The round shot used was inferior and its range too short. But the most pressing problem was that the Mexicans didn’t have heavy-caliber guns, their biggest being 12-pounders. He knew that the walls of the Yankee fort, which he helped build with his own hands, could not be penetrated by the cannons the Mexicans had at their disposal.
As he made his way to meet General Arista, Riley thought about how familiar Matamoros was to him now. The city was laid out in blocks, and General Ampudia had marched the troops in long parades up and down the streets to fool the Yankees into thinking the Mexican force was more massive than it actually was. This was how Riley had come to learn his way around the city.
The outer fringes of Matamoros had dirt streets and crude huts made of tall cane and thatched roofs, with frail walls and no windows, not unlike the wretched cabins of Irish peasants, except that instead of the potato garden and cabbage patch, here they grew beans, tomatoes, and maize for their tortillas. The inner part of the town, where the higher classes lived, had cobblestoned streets, houses made of sunbaked clay bricks, which the Mexicans called adobe, with tiled roofs as red as the sunset. The whitewashed buildings near and around the plaza had massive walls with large windows grated top to bottom with ironwork, all of it woven with red bougainvillea.
The air smelled of the noon meal, and Riley caught a whiff of beans and frying meat, handmade tortillas, and the pungent peppers so relished by the Mexicans and used too generously in their cooking. His throat spat fire like the barrel of a cannon whenever he tried their salsas. The Mexican Army had no mess tents. Soldiers nourished themselves thanks to the civilians selling food from doorways—tamales, enchiladas, tacos—home-cooked meals, freshly made. He walked past the tree-lined central square and the church, Nuestra Se?ora del Refugio, Our Lady of Refuge, a title that aptly captured how he felt attending mass there. Their pronunciation of the familiar Latin mass differed, but their humility and devotion for the Creator matched that of his own people, he thought.
The general’s headquarters were located at the best hotel in town, with elegant arches and a red-tiled roof. The guards standing at the entrance stepped aside to let Riley enter. He was escorted across a brilliant courtyard full of lush green plants, cheerful fountains, and canaries chirping merrily in cages. Riley liked the design of the buildings in Spanish fashion. Nothing but high walls could be seen from the outside, but the inside was protected and safe, a private Eden that closed its doors on the outside world.
General Ampudia looked entirely out of humor as Riley entered. He made no effort to hide his displeasure at being replaced as commander-in-chief by General Arista, regarding his demotion as a personal affront. Riley didn’t know why the minister of war had made this decision, but the transfer of power at this crucial time had further delayed their assault on the Yankees, and time was on Taylor’s side. Discord and rivalry among the Mexicans could only increase that advantage.
“Lieutenant Riley, please come in,” General Mejía said. “May I introduce you to our new commander, Major General Mariano Arista?” As Arista’s new deputy, Mejía seemed pleased with the new change in command.
“An honor, sir,” Riley said after snapping a salute. He had heard that Arista had distinguished himself as one of Mexico’s best cavalry officers.
“At ease, Lieutenant Riley. I’m pleased to meet you. Both General Ampudia and General Mejía say we can trust you,” General Arista said in English, and Riley remembered hearing that the forty-three-year-old general had lived in the United States for a time before returning to serve in Mexico’s military. What surprised him most was the general’s freckled complexion and red hair. If it weren’t for his Mexican accent, he could pass for an Irishman.
“?’Tis an honor to serve the great Republic of Mexico,” Riley said.
“We are going to war, Lieutenant,” General Arista said. “We are going to run the Yanquis off our land once and for all.”
“Aye, sir,” Riley said. “That we will.”
General Ampudia approached Riley with a pat on the back. He said something in Spanish, and General Mejía quickly translated.
“General Ampudia says that you have improved our artillery and have been of great service to our country.”
“I’m only doin’ my duty, sir,” Riley said. He didn’t want to say anything about the state of their weapons.
As if reading his thoughts, General Arista said, “The Yanquis, despite their flaws, have a magnificent army to be sure, and the latest weapons of war. Our training may be insufficient and our weapons in need of replacing, but we Mexicans fight like devils when aroused, and make no mistake, Lieutenant Riley—the presence of the Yanquis on our own land has more than provoked us.”