A Ballad of Love and Glory(40)
Before succumbing to exhaustion, Riley and Maloney made their way to the makeshift hospital to look in on Flanagan. Taking out a handkerchief, Riley wiped the smoke and grime off his face. His ears were still ringing.
“You believe the lassie and her grandmother can save poor Charlie?” Maloney asked. He coughed for a spell before continuing on. The smoke from the cannons was still heavy and hovered over the town in a stinking cloud, making the air taste like burnt gunpowder.
Riley thought about the rush of blood pouring out of Flanagan and how he’d hastened to press on his stomach to stop the flow. “His life is in God’s hands. I don’t know. I saw the unlucky fella get hit.”
Even before they entered the hospital, they heard the groans of those who’d been wounded during the cannonade. Luckily, there were few, and their injuries didn’t seem grave, not like Flanagan’s. They found him on a nearby cot being tended by Ximena, with padre Felipe standing on the other side giving him his last absolution. Flanagan was drenched in sweat, speaking in the Irish tongue, “M’iníon, is cailín maith thú agus sól’as do d’athair.”
As he listened, Riley realized the poor man thought the young widow was his daughter. Of course, she didn’t understand a word he said, but she spoke to him tenderly, as a daughter would speak to her ailing father. Her back was to Riley and Maloney, but sensing their presence, she turned around. Her eyes were wet with tears, and she wiped at them with her soiled apron, leaving a streak of Flanagan’s blood on her face.
Maloney went to her and wiped the blood off with his handkerchief. “Och, lassie, let me sit here with my friend. You deserve a bit of rest.”
She nodded and stepped away from the cot. “I’m sorry, teniente Riley,” she said as she came to talk to him. “I do what I can, but the shell cut his… intestinos. So I sent for the padre.”
Her teary eyes were amber-colored, with flecks that glistened like shards of sunbeams. Riley tore his gaze away and looked down at Flanagan’s abdomen, where blood soaked through the bandages.
“Thank you, lass. We will sit with him then,” he said. “Stay with him ’til the end.”
“I am sorry,” she said again, looking at Riley and Maloney. “I wish I do more.”
“You’ve done enough,” Riley said. “You gave him peace.”
She excused herself and went to help her grandmother with the other wounded.
“John, Jimmy, is that ye, boys?” Flanagan said. His voice was hoarse, and Riley leaned closer to his cot, taking his countryman’s hands in his. They were cold and limp, his life draining out of him.
“Whist. Don’t exert yourself, Charlie, be easy. We shall do aught we can to save ya,” Riley said.
Flanagan shook his head. “My time has come. I’m ready to meet God. But you keep fightin’ those Yanks, John Riley. Show them what we Irish are made of. Make them regret what they did to us, and to Franky.”
“I’ll never stop fightin’, not until we win this war.”
“You’re a credit to your countrymen, John Riley. Don’t let anyone—” Suddenly, Flanagan began shaking and Riley called for Ximena. Together they witnessed him take his last breath.
Padre Felipe made the sign of the cross over his body and prayed for him in Latin.
“Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam. I won’t let his death be in vain,” Riley said.
“Heavens be his bed,” Maloney said, then broke forth in tears.
Ximena put an arm around the old man. She looked at Riley, and for a moment, he wished to feel her arm around him as well, for her intoxicating scent of sweet green herbs and smoky incense to wrap around him. He wanted to bury his face in the nook of her neck and cry with abandon, the way Maloney was doing now.
“I appreciate your kindness,” he said, taking a deep breath. He was a lieutenant and couldn’t indulge in sorrow and lamentation. This was war, and he was bound to lose good men. He couldn’t fall asunder with every loss. But hadn’t it been he who had convinced Flanagan to risk life and limb for Mexico? And yet, couldn’t the same thing have happened to him with the Yankees?
* * *
The bombardment continued for the next two days, with the Mexicans unable to lure Taylor out of the depot. Word from Arista arrived informing them that Taylor had sent a group of Texas Rangers to sneak past the Mexican troops to reach his garrison at the fort. The Rangers had shot their way past the Mexican sentries guarding a post near the camp, killing six. Although Arista couldn’t be certain if the Rangers had managed to return to the depot, judging from Taylor’s refusal to leave, it appeared they’d accomplished their mission. Riley was sure they had succeeded and that intelligence the Rangers delivered to Taylor was the reason why he was in no haste to rush to Fort Texas. By now Taylor must have been well apprised that the Mexican guns were scarcely causing damage to his fort, making him confident the garrison could hold out.
“What are General Arista’s orders?” Riley asked General Mejía.
“We are intensifying our attack on the fort. He is sending General Ampudia with some forces and four field pieces to bombard it from the north bank while we continue shelling it from the south.”
The crossfire continued, with Mexican artillery firing on the Yankee fort from several directions, but it remained unbreachable. Riley had warned his men to prepare for a long siege, but he could tell their spirits had deflated, bombarding the foe when they didn’t have enough firepower to cause any damage. If only General Arista would stop waiting for Taylor to make his move so he could intercept him on the road. Riley believed that if the general brought the entire force of his troops upon the Yankee fort instead of having General Mejía and General Ampudia attacking from two sides, perhaps then they could capture the fort and conclude the standoff.