A Ballad of Love and Glory(54)
“Well then, after a minute or two, the shell exploded and his tent was blazin’. His friends came runnin’ to the rescue and pulled him out, all covered in soot, his hair and furry eyebrows singed. His face looked as if he’d been sweepin’ a chimney, I tell ya!”
Both men laughed. Ximena smiled, but she couldn’t help feeling bad for the Yanqui officer. To be hated so much that his own men would try to kill him.
“By my soul, ’tis a great pity that all we managed to do was give the captain some wee cuts and a hole or two in his nightshirt,” Delaney said, his eyes changing from dark to light green, like leaves flickering in the wind.
“I bet he took it out on all of ye rapscallions,” Maloney said.
“Aye, plenty of us got the gag put in our mouths.”
“Faith, ’tis plain as plain the heart of that vile creature is blacker than bog water,” Maloney said, shaking his head.
Ximena continued on with her duties, leaving the men to their stories, until finally, the wounded man was snoring away on his cot. Maloney, still sitting on his stool, kept watch over his friend.
* * *
On the third day, having lost the outer defenses and making no effort to recapture the strongholds, General Ampudia ordered his troops to fall back to the center of the city and abandon their positions, thus allowing the Yanquis to move in from the east and west completely uncontested. The only fort that hadn’t fallen into the enemy’s hands was the citadel. The shooting intensified and came so close that even the cries and moans of the wounded couldn’t drown out the musket fire raging outside.
“The Yankees are blastin’ through the houses!” Maloney said when he came back from the cathedral. Everyone listened as he told about the Mexican snipers up on the rooftops shooting at the Yanquis as they tried to make their way through the streets. But the enemy was smart. They eluded the snipers perched on the roofs by forcing their way through the houses, making holes in the adjoining walls from one house to the next with heavy pickaxes and crowbars, and thereby avoiding the streets—and the sharpshooters—altogether. “The city folk are gatherin’ in the cathedral and the main plaza now,” Maloney said. “They have nowhere else to go. But the Yankees have positioned two howitzers and a six-pound cannon on the rooftops and are pointin’ them straight at the crowds.”
Suddenly, an explosion shook the building. Before Ximena could stop him, Maloney rushed out of the hospital to see what had happened.
“Let us pray,” said one of the priests who was giving the holy sacraments to the dying. He dropped to his knees, and everyone else soon followed. Ximena pressed her hands together in prayer as the wailing of the people outside grew louder and louder. Then Maloney came in, his hat clutched in his hands, his face pale.
“Well, what ya waitin’ for, ould fella? What in tarnation is happenin’ out there?” Delaney yelled from his cot.
“The Yankees have damaged the cathedral with their mortar,” he said, fighting back tears. “The fallin’ stones crushed some of the civilians gathered there. They’re buried in the rubble.”
“But the cathedral has gunpowder!” Ximena said.
“One more blast and they’ll blow us to smithereens,” Delaney said.
“There is no safe place left in the city. Our Lord have mercy on us,” Dr. I?igo said. “General Ampudia is in the sacristy. I will plead with him to put an end to this madness.” He hurried out of the building while everyone else braced themselves for what might come.
With their cannons bearing on the cathedral and the plaza mayor, the Yanqui troops were in position to attack at first light. The firing ceased at dusk, and when Ximena left the Hospital del Rosario to see the damage for herself, rain was pouring down on the city, making it difficult for the locals to dig through the fallen stones for their dead and wounded, most of them women and children. The monks in the Templo de San Francisco next to the convent prayed and sang hymns. Their voices echoed against the buildings, and listening to them, Ximena found a little peace.
Around three in the morning, when things had finally settled down, they heard the distant sound of a bugle. Maloney rose from his cot and ran to see what was happening outside. When he returned, Ximena and Delaney were awake, waiting for him. The three of them went to sit outside the hospital doors. The rain had ceased, and the air was cold. Ximena wrapped her rebozo around her tightly. Delaney had shed his Yanqui uniform and now wore a Mexican jacket that Maloney had taken from a fallen soldier. It stretched too tight on his burly frame, but at least it kept him warm.
“I saw Captain Moreno comin’ out of the sacristy and bein’ escorted to Taylor’s headquarters with a flag of truce,” Maloney said.
“Is possible Ampudia send him to…?” Ximena didn’t possess the English word for what she knew in her heart was about to happen.
“Surrender?” Maloney said.
“Surrender,” she repeated, hating the taste of the word in her mouth, as foul and bitter as creosote tea.
20
September 1846
Monterrey, Nuevo León
In the end, the battle lasted three days.
Through his field glasses, Riley bore witness to the surrender of the citadel. After the capitulation of Monterrey, it was decided that he and the other Irish volunteers should abandon the black fortress. They came into the city and hid in civilian homes, out of sight of the Yankee general. Though the terms of the capitulation had protected Riley and the others from falling into the hands of the enemy, it was better that they not be present during the surrender of the strongest position in the city. Taylor might demand that every deserter be turned over to him. So now, at eleven in the morning, Riley and his gunners, along with the city’s inhabitants, were obliged to watch from the rooftops as the Mexican flag was lowered and eight cannon blasts cut through the air, a final salute to the Mexican colors. The smoke rose in the wind and was carried off across the plains toward the towering mountains.