A Ballad of Love and Glory(55)

When General Ampudia had called back the troops two nights earlier, ordering that they abandon their posts and retreat to the main plaza, Riley knew it was folly to concentrate all the forces in the center of the city. His fellow foreign soldiers, as well as his Mexican comrades, believed that the army could hold off the attack and defend Monterrey. But the general wouldn’t give ear to them.

Being a half mile away in the citadel, Riley didn’t get to witness the fighting within the city, he only knew what he and his battery had done on the plain where they were stationed. For three days, Riley and his gunners had fired the cannons from the citadel relentlessly, tearing into the blue columns marching double-quick time toward Monterrey. They killed or wounded many who came within range, forcing the Yanks to march over their fallen comrades as they rushed to attack the city. With his own eyes, he saw the dozens and dozens of mangled bodies scattered across the plain, soldiers whom he and his gunners had stopped dead in their tracks with their canister shot. The Mexican lancers finished off whatever troops Riley’s men had managed to disperse, spearing the enemy while Riley’s guns kept sweeping the plain, raining metal on those who tried to hide in the cornfields. The vultures and the coyotes did the rest.

But Taylor’s troops had pushed past into the city through the other points of entry, taking the northeastern part of Monterrey the first day, the western part the second. They took possession of the higher ground—Fort Tenería, Fort Diablo, and the Bishop’s Palace—and the Mexican troops had fled, their own guns turned against them. On the third night, orders came to the gun crews at the citadel to hold their fire and hang the white flag from the ramparts. Dismayed that Ampudia was seeking to arrange a twenty-four-hour armistice with Taylor, the batteries in the black fortress tarried in following the order. The citadel cannons had been the first to open fire, and they were the last to grow silent. Riley’s only consolation was that the Yanks never took the citadel.

Later, after General Ampudia had sent one of his officers to solicit a parley, he claimed that in doing so he was putting an end to the distress of Monterrey’s citizens and preventing their slaughter. The cathedral was filled with ammunition and one more blast from the enemy’s cannons would have blown it to pieces, killing countless innocent people. Ampudia claimed it was for their sake that he was compromising Mexico’s honor. The truth was that the general had greatly underestimated the Yanks and had been outwitted.

Now here they were, witnessing the humiliation of the enemy’s colors being hoisted up on the staff to fly over Monterrey. A cannon was fired by the Yankees, then another and another. All around him, cannons belched and recoiled in salute of the twenty-eight states of the American constellation. Riley watched as the Mexicans marched out of the citadel, and the Yankee troops marched in shouting their hurrahs and playing their patriotic tunes. He could scarcely hear the music, but in his head, “Yankee Doodle” played again and again, mocking him.



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Afterward, Riley made his way to the hospital to check on his wounded men and speak with Maloney. Questions swirled in his head. What would his countrymen say about the capitulation of Monterrey? Would they regret joining the Mexican ranks? Would they blame him? As his horse forced its way over the rubble littering the streets and shell fragments, Riley couldn’t help but mourn the injury inflicted upon this beautiful city, the white stone streets stained red, the fallen trees, homes with crumbled walls and doors riddled with bullets, shattered windows and ruined balconies. The grief-stricken civilians were walking about, searching for their loved ones while others were loading what they could of their possessions onto their mules or their own backs. Riley wished to close his eyes to the devastation. What had been gained from these calamities—a premature surrender of the city?

At least the terms of the surrender had spared him and his men from their worst fear—being captured by the Yanks, which would have meant sure death. General Taylor had agreed that all Mexican forces would be allowed to withdraw from the city with their arms and a six-gun battery. He agreed to not pursue the Mexican troops for eight weeks. So Riley and his men would be allowed to march out of the city in the ranks of the Mexican Army of the North. At least for now, the deserters were safe.

As he neared the cathedral, a crowd of civilians were gathered around it. Riley winced at the sight of the destruction inflicted upon this holy place of God, with its damaged clock tower and marred facade. But then he realized what the crowd was looking at. The Texas Rangers, violating the terms of the truce, were filing in and out of the cathedral on their horses as if it were nothing more than a stable. They came out carrying crucifixes, sacred vessels, wax figures of the Virgin Mother and Child, and religious paintings. One of them was dressed in the sacred vestments, another was banging on the organ inside, pealing forth the most grotesque sounds. The townspeople pleaded for them to stop. The priests and monks on their knees, with a crucifix in hand, begged them to cease their barbarity and respect the house of the Lord. They simply laughed and continued their plundering.

Riley now knew how his people must have felt when Oliver Cromwell invaded Ireland two centuries earlier, desecrating its churches, using them as stables. The seething rage. The impotence. He heard someone shouting.

“Ye infernal scoundrels! ’Tis sacrilege what you’re doin’! May the curse of God be upon ye!”

Even before he turned to look, he knew who it was. Maloney emerged from the crowd with a musket in hand and rushed at the Rangers. Riley tried to stop him but couldn’t get through the onlookers quickly enough. Before he could reach his friend, Maloney fired at the Rangers, killing one of them. The Rangers trained their deadly six-shooters on the old man, pouring their bullets into him until they were spent. Riley halted his horse and watched as Maloney’s blood spread over the ground. The Rangers reloaded and pointed their Colt revolvers at the onlookers.