A Ballad of Love and Glory(63)
Despite the challenges, Santa Anna’s Army of Liberation would soon be ready to leave this beautiful city. Meanwhile, Riley wasted no time drilling the battalion. After a hard day’s work of training, they’d go out and enjoy all the amusements San Luis Potosí had to offer. His men preferred visiting the cantinas, frolicking with the Mexican se?oritas, and attending the bullfights or Santa Anna’s cockfights on the weekends. Riley relished the fandangos and strolls around the public square with Ximena, their dinners of enchiladas potosinas, or the delightful rides out in the country where they would gather her plants and enjoy the open skies. He treasured these outings, but it was getting more and more difficult to spend time with her. His body ached with desire. She haunted him in his dreams and when he was awake. No matter how black his sinning soul became, he remained faithful to Nelly, regularly sending her a letter and his pay. But was it a lie when he told her he would never betray his duty to her?
* * *
One November afternoon, Riley was summoned by General Santa Anna to his headquarters, where he was introduced to a newly arrived deserter. “Teniente Riley, please come in, come in,” the general said through his interpreter, smiling as he motioned Riley to approach. Riley saluted his general, but his gaze lingered on the wiry, sandy-haired man standing next to him, whom he immediately recognized as a fellow Irishman.
“I’d like you to meet Patrick Dalton,” Santa Anna said. “Like you, he served in the British Army and is a skilled artillerist, or so he tells me,” he said with a laugh.
Dalton saluted Riley respectfully.
“At ease, soldier. And where in the Green Isle do you hail from?” Riley asked.
“County Mayo, sir,” Dalton said in a confident voice.
“I’m a Connacht man myself, from Clifden. A pleasure to meet you,” Riley said as he shook his countryman’s hand.
“Tell me, Private Dalton, how did you come to join us?” the general asked.
Dalton told them how, after hearing about the Saint Patrick’s Battalion, he’d separated himself from the Yanks while they were stationed in Camargo. His sergeant had taken him and a few other soldiers of Company B to the Río Grande to wash their clothes. Dalton had finished quickly and was given leave to return to camp. But instead, he sneaked into a cornfield and hid there until nightfall. Before anyone could come looking for him in the field, he plunged into the river and swam to the other side.
“?’Tis a mighty river,” Dalton said. “But I would’ve rather died swimmin’ across than to spend another blessed day sufferin’ the Yanks’ ridicule and contempt.”
Dalton had been helped by two rancheros who, following Santa Anna’s orders to help deserters from the Yankee army, had escorted him safely to San Luis Potosí. “I came here because I desire to serve under one of my own,” Dalton said, looking at Riley. “?’Twould be a great honor to join the Saint Patrick’s Battalion and fight under your banner, sir. We Mayo men have a special affinity for our patron saint, as you well know, Lieutenant Riley,” he said with a smile. “Our holy Mayo mountain bears his name.”
“Well, then it’s settled. Welcome to the Saint Patrick’s Battalion, soldier,” Santa Anna said. His manservant entered the room and said something in Spanish to the commander. Santa Anna smiled and turned to Riley and Patrick Dalton. “Well, gentlemen, it seems my carriage awaits me. Would you do me the honor of being my guests tonight? I’ve organized a private cockfight with some of my compatriots to raise more funds for our cause, and I’m sure you will enjoy it. Teniente Riley, I’ve not seen you at one of my cockfights yet, and I hate the thought of you missing out on the greatest sport in all of Mexico!” He grabbed his cane and gestured for them to follow him.
Riley looked at Dalton and smiled at seeing the surprise on his face. Though he had yet to attend one of the fights, by now Riley knew—just like everyone else—that the commander had a relish for the blood sport. “Another thin’ the Mexicans have in common with the Irish, eh?”
Dalton nodded. “Aye. Course the Mexicans got all the sunshine, and we the rain.”
* * *
The cockfight was held at the private residence of one of the city’s wealthiest citizens. The pit had been specially constructed for this occasion in the splendid courtyard, and chairs had been placed on three sides of it. Judging by the presence of the most distinguished gentlemen and ladies, along with army generals and officers, Riley deduced that in Mexico, cockfighting wasn’t looked down upon as a vulgar sport of the poor as it was in Ireland.
He’d just joined the British Army when the Cruelty to Animals Act in 1835 had banned the sport. As a young soldier, Riley had observed with his own eyes the hypocrisy of the law, for when it came to cruelty to animals, only the Irish poor were punished and charged with misdemeanors while the upper class was left to enjoy their hunting sport unmolested. The Irish still patronized the cockfights despite the ban, and his own father and brothers loved the sport. When Riley became a redcoat—and a stain upon his family—he was no longer invited to go with them deep into the fields where makeshift cockpits were built for a day of gathering with neighbors and friends.
Presently, the master of ceremonies walked into the center of the pit and recited the cockfighter’s prayer, “Ave María purísima, los gallos vienen.” As the games got underway, Riley observed Santa Anna, as merry as could be, standing by the pit with a beautiful woman on each arm. The commander had brought six of his best fighting cocks, and like their owner, the game fowl demanded respect and admiration. Watching as the spectators—including the fine ladies who didn’t find it beneath them to support their favorite animals—placed their bets with the brokers in nothing but gold coins, Riley thought that, were he a betting man and had the gold, he would’ve placed a wager on every one of the commander’s cocks. In less than thirty seconds after the fighting commenced, Santa Anna’s first fowl emerged the victor. With its opponent dead at its feet in a pool of blood, the cock puffed up its chest and crowed, causing the people to cheer and Santa Anna to take a bow. When Riley saw the heaps of gold being wagered, it struck him how orderly and well behaved the crowd was compared to those in his homeland, where his boisterous countrymen would be swearing and quarreling throughout the games. As much as he liked the decorum of the higher classes, Riley missed the jesting and good-natured fighting of the peasantry.