A Ballad of Love and Glory(97)
Once outside, she finally let the tears come, and before long her body began shaking with rage. Poor Mexico. To be in the hands of vainglorious caudillos who allowed their wounded pride to control them. Corrupt men who cared only about their reputations, whose souls were darkened by their twisted desire for wealth and power and glory. They were like Santa Anna’s gamecock who was drowned by his own reflection—intent on taking themselves, and all of Mexico, to their doom. What kind of future could her country have when ruled by men like that? And what would become of John and the San Patricios?
36
September 1847
San ángel, Outskirts of Mexico City
They imprisoned Riley and twenty-eight of his men in a dank warehouse that smelled of sewage and rot. As soon as the door closed, he gathered his men around him, Dalton by his side.
“Come now, my boys, this isn’t over yet!” Riley said. “There ought to be a way out of our present calamity. Let us not despair.”
“They’re going to kill us, kill us all,” James Mills said.
“No, Major Riley is right,” Dalton said. “Have faith men, have faith.”
“Faith in whom, him?” Alexander McKee said, pointing at Riley. “Isn’t it he who got us into this sad scrape?” He looked at Riley and spat. “Go hIfreann leat!” He struggled to his feet and made his way across the room.
“Listen now, McKee, I will not tolerate—” Dalton said.
Riley put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let him be. He’s right.”
“We can tell them the truth,” John Bowers said. “Those sonsabitches treated us worse than animals. After all the great indignities we suffered, they left us no choice but to desert.”
“The infidels mocked our religion and didn’t allow us to worship our Creator in our own manner,” Edward McHeran said. “Heavens know ’twas reason enough for us to do what we did.”
“They won’t give ear to that,” Riley said. “Especially our religion. They’ll throw the Articles of War in our faces.”
“We can say that their laws don’t apply to us Irish,” Thomas Riley said. “And you Germans, and you Scots,” he said as he glanced around the room.
“We can say we were much bewildered by liquor to know any better,” Hezekiah Akles said. “I’ve got proof, right here on my forehead.” He touched his forehead where the letters HD had been branded by his commanding officer.
Riley nodded, remembering that according to general order, drunkards would be allowed back into their ranks after going absent without official leave. Besides, hadn’t the Yanks just won the battle at Churubusco? Surely they were feeling generous right now. There might be a chance they would forgive the San Patricios if they claimed to be nothing but drunks. Paddy the drunkard, wasn’t that what the Yanks called them?
“Hear me,” Riley said. “Let us tell the Yanks a good cock-and-bull story, then. Claim drunkenness when ye stand afore the judge. Say the drop led ye astray. At any rate, they’ve always accused us of bein’ nothin’ but drunken brutes, haven’t they? So tell them they spoke truth.”
“D’ya really think that will work?” John Bartley asked.
“?’Tis worth takin’ the chance,” Riley said. “Besides, the Yanks have another battle to fight. ’Twon’t be long afore they have to face the Mexicans again, so they’ve got no time for trials. They need to focus on their strategy to win the war. The trials will be over afore ye know it, eh?” Riley paused and looked at his men. He hoped they believed him. He wanted to believe it himself, but deep down, he knew the Yanks would show no clemency. Especially not now. He knew Scott would make an example of them in order to stop more soldiers from deserting. But what else could he say to his men to give them hope? “If that story fails to convince, claim that ye were spirited away from your ranks by rancheros and were forced to fight with the Mexicans, that they threatened ye with death if ye didn’t fight for their cause.” He knew that under the Articles of War, their only valid defenses would be drunkenness and coercion.
“But they didn’t,” Dalton said. “We made our choice, and now we must abide by it.”
Riley nodded. “I know, but ’tis plain our Mexican friends are about to lose this war, and they won’t be able to give us succor when they can’t even help themselves. ’Tis up to us now to defend our cause and save ourselves from the bitter fate that’s upon us, ye understand?”
The men nodded.
“If that story fails, then say that ye were beaten until ye had no choice but to give in. Blame it on me, if ye must. Say that it was John Riley of County Galway who forced ye all to fight under his green banner.”
“Níl!” Dalton said, standing up. “We will do no such thin’.”
“If there is blame to be passed around, I will bear my share,” Riley said, hitting his breast with his fist. “Mea culpa.”
“I’ll just say that I was a prisoner of love,” James Mills said. “That my head was unsettled by the love of my Mexican sweetheart, which compelled me to put on the Mexican uniform.”
The men chuckled.
“Let us pray,” Edward McHeran said, putting his hands together in prayer. Knowing they were past the help of men, they bowed their heads in unison to ask for God’s mercy. Even Alexander McKee returned to the group and knelt with the rest, the sound of their voices drifting out into the wet night.