A Ballad of Love and Glory(38)
I send you all my love,
Nelly
Nelly’s letter had arrived after Riley separated himself from the Yanks, but Maloney had lined up for him at mail call. The Mexican northern frontier seemed so far away from her and everyone he loved, and hearing her need for him was all the more painful. But return to Ireland was impossible. What else to do then but to stay and earn his lieutenant’s wages? He picked up the writing materials he’d purchased and finished his letter in reply to her: The war has begun. When Mexico is victorious, I will send for you and Johnny and your parents. In this country we’ll begin a new life as proud landowners. Can you fancy that, my dearest one? It shall be so. I promise you. Please, remember me to Johnny. Tell him when he gets here, I will have a fine horse waiting for him. He urged her to write back to him, though he wasn’t sure where he would be in a week, let alone, six months hence.
When he was done, he walked over to the church. Mexican postmasters were unreliable with mail within the republic, but even more so from another country, and he could not risk losing his wife’s remittance. Thanks to the parish priest, he learned a better way was through the Catholic Church. Addressed to Father Peter from padre Felipe, it would be nigh on three months before his wife would receive it at the chapel, but it was the surest way.
“Tell me, my son, you have troubles?” padre Felipe said as he stood outside the door of the sacristy, watering geraniums in the flowerpots. He set down the watering can as Riley approached.
“Good afternoon, padre,” Riley said as he climbed the steps. He removed his shako and kissed the priest’s hand. “I am tryin’ to escape gloomy thoughts, but alas, they’ve taken possession of me. I think of my wife. If anythin’ happens to me in the upcomin’ battle—”
“God will protect you,” padre Felipe said. “You, John Riley, are here to defend a Catholic nation from protestantes bárbaros. Our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ, watch you.”
“Thank you, padre,” Riley said as he handed over the letter. “If God has other plans, will you write to my wife and inform her of my fate?”
The priest shook his head. “When battle over, you write to your wife and inform of our victory.”
“Would you give me your blessin’, padre?”
Riley knelt down, hoping the priest’s prayer would provide him the strength he needed to face whatever fate awaited him.
* * *
On the banks of the river the following day, Riley watched the Yankee forces form ranks. The reinforcements and equipment General Arista requested from the capital had yet to arrive, but unable to wait any longer, he’d taken 4,400 troops with him to cross the river farther downstream and cut off Taylor on the road to Point Isabel. The balance of his troops, including Riley’s battery, had remained in Matamoros under the command of General Mejía to guard the ferry crossings and to man the defenses along the river.
At the council of war, Riley had proposed that the best course of action would be to surround Fort Texas while Taylor and most of his forces were still inside. But General Arista believed it was too great an undertaking now that construction on the fort had been completed. Its high, sturdy walls and deep moat prevented the Mexican infantry and cavalry from infiltrating it. They could besiege the fort with cannon fire, but as Riley had pointed out, the Mexican cannons couldn’t penetrate the walls. In an effort to protect Matamoros from Taylor’s 18-pounders, Arista had decided instead to lure the Yankee forces away from the city and attack them out in the open field. And so General Arista had forced Taylor out of Fort Texas by blocking his supply line. Short of needed rations to feed his troops, the Yankee general was now marching away from his camp and heading east to his depot.
Arista had put all his faith in his cavalry. The Mexican mounted troops had equestrian skills unlike any Riley had ever seen, to be sure, especially with their lassos. In addition to their carbines and pistols, they also carried long lances, which, though outmoded, they used quite effectively. But confronting the enemy in an open field might prove disastrous. Recalling the artillery drills he had witnessed from the scaffolds of the Yankee fort, Riley feared that once in the open, the Yankees would have all the space they needed to execute the drills they’d been perfecting for months with their highly maneuverable batteries. Containing the Yankees in one place and storming the fort with all of them inside might prove to be a missed opportunity they would come to regret.
Through his field glasses, Riley observed the small garrison Taylor had left behind to man Fort Texas. He spotted Engineer Captain Mansfield, rubbing his chin as he inspected the fort he had designed. Up on the redans, Major Brown and Lieutenant Braxton Bragg were checking the cannons and taking the range of the Mexican batteries. As the Río Grande flowed between them, Riley remembered Bragg’s nativism and found himself pleased to be the West Pointer’s opponent. Could he have forgiven himself if he’d fought on the same side and been his accomplice in crime?
“How many left?” John Little asked.
Riley handed him the field glasses. “About five hundred infantry and artillery forces. He’s left Major Brown in charge. Do you see that vile fella, Braxton Bragg, up on the redans?”
“Aye, he’s lookin’ our way now,” Little said, handing back the field glasses to Riley. “Looks as if someone stuck a thornbush up his arse.”