A Ballad of Love and Glory(71)
It was with this thought that Riley took his place among the columns on January 28. As the San Patricios and the Mexican troops formed ranks in the public square and along the street leading north, the potosinos cheered for them, waving and tossing flowers from their balconies. It was time to face the enemy.
Riding on his caisson alongside capitán Moreno and Patrick Dalton, Riley held his green silk banner high as the people chanted, “?Viva México! ?Vivan los San Patricios!” He turned to look at his men. Their eyes glittered from beneath their caps as they waved back at the residents of San Luis Potosí, who throughout the last three months had treated them with generosity and respect.
The journey north to the hacienda of Encarnación would be long and arduous. Two hundred and sixty miles, most of it unsettled land. The army had little in terms of provisions, but Santa Anna’s plan was for them to seize the supplies the Yanks had with them. Riley was ill at ease about the risk the commander was taking, for the consequences would be great. If they didn’t get their hands on those provisions, it could prove their undoing.
Bugles announced the arrival of Santa Anna, and Riley turned to see him approach on horseback and making his way through the ranks as the men parted for him. He was there to see the lead units off and give them a few words of encouragement until they met up again. He himself would be leaving in a few days with his staff and the rest of the infantry and cavalry, and he’d insisted that Ximena ride with him in his handsome carriage, along with his chaplain and secretary.
“?Soldados!” Santa Anna addressed them. “The independence, the honor, and the destiny of the nation depend at this moment on your decisions! My friends, what days of glory await us! Hurry forth in the defense of your country. The cause we sustain is a holy one. Never have we struggled more for justice, because we fight for honor and religion, for our wives and children!” As he delivered his speech, he galloped up and down the columns, waving his hat. The troops received his remarks with enthusiasm. “?Vencer o morir!” the commander yelled, concluding his eloquent speech. To conquer or die. The cheers of the civilians and the troops echoed among the buildings, and Riley cheered along with them. Their banners floated in the wind, and the military bands struck up an inspiring tune. Then Santa Anna brought his horse before Riley’s caisson to examine the glittering green banner. He smiled in approval. “Teniente Riley,” he said, “la victoria será nuestra.”
“Así será, mi general,” Riley said, saluting his commander.
“?Libertad para la República Mexicana!” Santa Anna said, as he read out the words on Riley’s banner. Then in a louder voice, he said it again, and Riley and the San Patricios shouted along with him.
“Liberty for the Mexican Republic. Erin Go Bragh!”
Amid the cheers from the crowd, Santa Anna gave marching orders and the troops began to move out. While the Saint Patrick’s Battalion waited their turn, Ximena emerged from the crowd and approached Riley. Her troubled look made him get down from the caisson and go over to her side. She’d been behaving queerly the last few days but wouldn’t tell him what was wrong.
“What’s unsettlin’ your mind, lass?”
“Take care of yourself, John,” she said, her voice grave, her eyes heavy with worry.
“I will. Don’t fret about me none. I’ll be grand.”
She shook her head, and as she looked intensely at him, her face paled and her eyes widened, as if she were seeing something no one but she could see. Grabbing his hands, she blurted out, “Keep your eyes open!” Then she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
As the columns began to move out, Riley wondered what she’d meant by that.
They left the city behind, and the cheers grew fainter and fainter. Riley’s cannons glinted in the sun as the horse wagons that carried them lurched forward, across the terrain. He turned to look behind him. It was hard to see the city through the cloud of dust the army had left in its wake, but the steeple and tower of the cathedral and temple rose high above San Luis Potosí. Riley said a silent prayer and thought of Ximena, of the strolls they’d taken around the plaza, of how she’d been by his side as he formed the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. That she would be following a few days behind him in Santa Anna’s carriage eased his worries. At least this time, she wouldn’t suffer a brutal march.
* * *
They trudged northward past cultivated fields, then miserable desert. There hadn’t been enough carts and mules to transport all of the food supplies, and so each man had to carry his own week’s worth of rations. Some ate through theirs quickly. Others, not knowing any better, had thrown some away at the beginning of the march to lighten their loads. They soon regretted it when they were forced to subsist on half-rations of corn biscuits and strips of dried beef, piloncillo and pinole, and whatever the camp women could forage in the brush as their days turned into weeks.
When they were finally nearing the hacienda of Encarnación, a norther came roaring upon them one night with furious speed, and the soldiers and camp women, tentless and exposed, huddled together seeking protection from the keen winds and freezing rain that soon turned to snow. The little wood they had gathered was wet, and what few flames they managed to coax from it were suffocated by the snow. The commanders and officers who had tents didn’t fare any better. As Riley lay inside the tent he shared with Dalton, buttoned up to the neck, numb from the intense cold and wishing he had an overcoat, the canvas flapped and whipped all around them. He felt that at any moment the wind would yank the tent off the face of the earth and hurl it into the heavens with the two of them still inside. As the norther raged unabated, he wondered if the dire weather was an omen. Was God trying to tell them something?