A Ballad of Love and Glory(29)
Arista beckoned for Ampudia to hand him the pile of papers sitting on his desk and then turned back to Riley again. “Now, you must be wondering why I’ve summoned you. Since you have served in the ranks of the enemy, your keen observations and recommendations are of utmost value to us, and we will do our best to take your counsel into account. But now, we require your assistance in another matter.” He handed Riley one of the papers and said, “General Ampudia had great success when he penned a pamphlet addressed to your countrymen. As a result, I’m employing the same tactic. There’s widespread discontent in the American ranks, and I aim to exploit that. You’re to deliver these pamphlets tonight to your countrymen and all foreign soldiers in the Yanqui ranks. They must make their choice before we attack.”
All three generals keenly watched Riley as he read through the pamphlet General Arista had given him. It was a fine letter, urging the Irish and other immigrant soldiers to abandon their ranks, and promising them land grants based on their rank, of three hundred and twenty acres or more. He thought about Maloney, Flanagan, O’Brien, and the rest of his countrymen who shared the same dream as he—to have a piece of land to call their own. Was it possible that it was finally within reach?
“By this time tomorrow hostilities shall be underway,” General Arista told Riley after he had finished reading.
The general went on to inform him of the plans he’d set in motion even before reaching Matamoros. A few days before, he’d given the command for a covert crossing of the river, whereupon General Torrejón led 1,600 of the Mexican forces—cavalry and infantry—across the Río Grande upstream from the Yankee camp completely unnoticed, with the ultimate goal of disrupting communications and convoys between Fort Texas and its supply depot at Point Isabel. By the time rumors of the maneuver had reached General Taylor, the Mexican troops were safely resting on the north shore. Arista’s spies alerted him that Taylor was set to dispatch two cavalry patrols that evening to find evidence of the crossing and intercept the Mexicans. Now Riley understood why he must hasten to deliver the pamphlets. By this time the following day, if blood was shed, the war would have commenced.
“I wish to see your countrymen fighting alongside us, as our Catholic brethren, and not on the receiving end of our guns,” General Arista said.
“I will call upon my countrymen,” Riley said as he looked at the three generals. “And personally oversee the safe passage across the river of those who choose to come with me.”
“Very well, Lieutenant,” General Arista said. “Tonight then, you shall be our messenger.”
“May I offer a suggestion, sir, by your leave?”
“Of course, Lieutenant, you have my permission to speak freely.”
“Would the general consider formin’ the deserters into a company of gunners? ’Twill give them an extra enticement to come.”
“An excellent suggestion!” General Arista said.
“Indeed, it is,” General Mejía said. “You and I can train anyone who follows you across the river to man our field pieces.”
“Now, Godspeed, teniente Riley,” Arista said. “Bring all your countrymen to us. Tell them we will receive them with open arms.”
* * *
After he was dismissed, Riley returned to the barracks to seek out the men—deserters like himself—to tell them of the plans. He chose three of them, John Little, James Mills, and John Murphy, to accompany him.
He never thought he would don the hated Yankee uniform again, but that evening found him buttoning his old army jacket. Maybe Saint Patrick had prevented him from tossing it in disgust, as he had been inclined to do upon receiving his new Mexican uniform, for clearly, its usefulness hadn’t ended.
“Faith, you look like a Yank,” Murphy said as Riley approached them, clad in American blue.
“Let’s hope I don’t get caught,” Riley answered. He was glad the men were ready for action.
“?’Tis a dangerous thing you’re doin’, Lieutenant,” Mills said. “Let us accompany you. I know my way around the camp as if it were my own potato garden.”
“And I can be as quiet as a fox stealin’ hens,” Murphy said.
“I’m a fair swimmer,” Little said. “I can carry two fellas on my back if need be.”
Riley shook his head. “Níl, I need ye on this side, boys, waitin’ by the river to help the ones who swim across.”
Two Mexican soldiers escorted them from their barracks toward the edge of the river. As night gathered around them, they traversed the streets, and he could hear families inside their homes, their merry laughter ringing out through the open windows as they shared their evening meal. He wondered how soon it might be his turn to partake of such moments with his family.
The aroma of meat and tortillas wafted toward them as they passed a small adobe house where a se?ora was selling food from her doorway. Behind her, an old woman knelt before a hot flat stone, patting tortillas into shape. Riley’s stomach rumbled. He thought of his new favorite meal, tamales, a kind of meat pie wrapped in corn husks. As they passed another house, his mouth watered as he smelled the pan dulce a woman was selling, and the tantalizing whiff of cinnamon made him almost stop to purchase one. He regretted that his preoccupation with the night’s plan had kept him from supper. With one deep breath, he set aside his cravings as he veered toward the river. On the northern bank, the Yankee camp was still astir, and he sensed that his timing was right. He was taking a great risk going at this hour, before tattoo, when everyone was still awake, but he needed his former messmates gathered together. It would do him no good to sneak into the camp when they were all sleeping in their tents.