Chapter 11

11

April 1846

Fort Texas, Río Grande

Hiding amid the cane on the other side, Riley shook o the water as best he could. The pamphlets in his knapsack had been wrapped wel enough to stay dry. As he pushed through the foliage, his thick woolen uniform clung uncomfortably to his body. Glancing with gratitude at the cloudy sky that kept the moon hidden, he made his way to the camp’s dwindling res. The air smel ed of smoke and roasting corn, and scattered laughter rang out. One of the regimental bands was playing “Oft, in the Stil y Night.”

“Who goes there?” a deep voice chal enged from the other side of the thickets.

Riley stopped walking and cursed under his breath as he reached for his knife.

An old man emerged from behind the twisted mesquite branches and into the dim light. Dressed in disheveled trousers and a white linen shirt, one would mistake him for a bootlegger, but in another second Riley realized it was General Taylor. “Who are you?”

Riley wondered what in blazes the general was doing at this late hour walking around the camp by himself.

“Private Sul ivan, sir.” Would the old man remember him?

“And what do you think you’re doing, Private, fumbling about in the dark?”

Riley didn’t know what to say but was relieved to see no recognition of him, one of thousands in his ranks surely.

“Not deserting, are you?” the general said, spitting out his chewing tobacco.

“No, sir.”

And then, perhaps realizing that Riley was heading toward the camp, the general said, “Oh, I see. I see. Snuck o to see the wenches, didn’t you?”

Riley remembered the camp fol owers, the whores, and liquor peddlers always near, enticing soldiers to spend their wages on pleasure and vice. “Beggin’

your pardon, sir,” Riley said, relieved at the general’s assumption. “The nights are long and lonely.”

“But that’s the soldier’s lot, isn’t it?” Taylor looked up at the bright piece of moon that was now peeping forth through the clouds. Riley wondered about the general’s wife, the family waiting for him at his plantation in Louisiana.

Surely the old man got lonely as wel . “Ah,” the general said, looking keenly at him, “now that I can see your face, I reckon I know you. You got into a scu e with Lieutenant Bragg, didn’t you?”

“Aye, sir.” Riley clutched the knife tighter. He didn’t want to use it, but he would if he had to.

“Wel , I trust you’re staying out of his way, Private,” the general said. “Now get on with you. It isn’t safe for you to be out and about. You might be mistaken for a deserter, and you know what the consequence of that would be.”

“Aye, sir. I know it right wel .” The image of Franky Sul ivan suddenly returned to him, along with the old anger. He turned on his heel and proceeded toward the tents, not even bothering to reply to the general when he wished him a good night.

Maloney spotted Riley rst as he neared the gleaming light of the camp re.

“Bejesus!” he said. “Look who’s come back—?”

“Whist, whist!” Riley urged hastily as he rushed to join them. “You’l give me away, shriekin’ like a banshee.”

Realizing his fol y, Maloney beckoned everyone closer in to block Riley from view. Soldiers passed by now and then, and Riley was il at ease thinking that one of them might be a Yankee from his own former unit and go running to Captain Merril . He scooted closer to the re, thankful for a bit of heat on a stil -wet uniform.

“I didn’t expect to see ya,” Flanagan said.

“And what are you doin’ here, John Riley? Riskin’ your life to come back here. Not joinin’ the Yanks again, are you?” O’Brien said.

“Never!” Riley said. “I brin’ ye good tidings, boys. There’s a better life to be had yonder across the Río Grande, and I’ve come to brin’ ye with me.” He took out the pamphlets from his sack and handed one to each. Then remembering that most didn’t know how to read, he quickly told them what was written there.

“Holy Mother of God,” O’Brien said. “Up to three hundred and twenty acres of land? You speak in earnest, my boy?”

“Fancy that? Me, a landowner, for the rst time in my life,” Quinn said.

“Aye. Every single one of ye fel as could be landowners,” Riley said. “Al your days of drudgery wil be behind ye. There’l be no more absentee landlords, no more redcoats and police comin’ to tumble your roofs and turn ye out of your elds, no more Yankees to mistreat ye and make ye rue the day ye crossed the Atlantic. Ye’l have land and can practice your faith as ye wil .”

“Tel us about the Mexicans. Have they shown themselves better Christians than the Yanks?” Quinn asked.

“Aye,” Riley said. “They’ve o ered me friendship and their con dence. They appreciate my skil s and recompense my hard work and insight. They’ve even made me a lieutenant, I tel ye. And if ye come with me, that’s how ye shal be treated as wel .”

“ ’Tis a big risk,” Flanagan said. “And if we’re caught, the Yanks wil show us no more mercy than they showed Franky Sul ivan.”

“The Río Grande is a graveyard now,” O’Brien said.

“Listen now, boys,” Riley said. “The war’s upon us, and I don’t want ye on the other side of my guns but beside me in the Mexican artil ery. I cannot bear the bitterness of my soul at the thought of spil in’ your blood! The Mexicans have agreed to let me train ye al as battery gunners. Ye won’t be common foot soldiers but cannoneers!”

The men looked at one another and said nothing.

“By the holy sts of the blessed Saint Patrick, mind what I’m sayin’, eh? Ye al can die here, too, in infantry blue. Ye’l have a better chance with the Mexicans.

Beyond on the other side of the river, ye’l be surrounded by people who’l treat ye with respect, who’l o er ye friendship and cal ye brothers and Catholics.

Not savages. Not Micks or potatoheads. Not deserters or traitors.”

Riley stood up. He stil had to distribute the pamphlets around the camp, but he needed to wait until everyone settled in for the night. “Meet me by the river in one hour. Upriver, near the ferry crossin’ by the Mexican fort. My Mexican friends wil be waitin’ with my men on the other side, ready to help.”

He looked at Maloney, who’d said nary a word the whole time. “And you, ould fel a, you told me to come back for ya, and I have. Sunshine and storm, remember?”

“Aye. I know wel enough you’re here for me.” Maloney took a swig of whiskey, looked at the re, and said, “But Riley, this poor ould creature of ve and sixty hasn’t—”

“—lost his mettle yet,” Riley nished for him. “I’l meet you at the river then, eh?”He retreated into the shadows to wait until the bugles sounded their cal to quarters and watched his former messmates retire to their tents. The camp was soon stil but for the night patrol. He was a tal man, an easy target, but Riley was quick on his feet and he made no sounds as he wound his way down each company street. He careful y placed short stacks of lea ets on the ground in front of the tents as he went. He’d let the wind do the rest.

When he was nished, he retreated to the riverbank. It was harder to see where he was stepping, but he listened to the roaring of the river and fol owed the sound until nal y, his feet were on the shore. At rst, he saw only the deserted shoreline. Had he convinced no one?

“Riley, over here!” someone whispered. He turned just in time to see eight of his former mates step out of the tal cane where they’d been hiding. Flanagan, Quinn, O’Brien, and a few others. But no Maloney.

As if reading his thoughts, Quinn said, “The poor creature is in terror of the river.”

Riley didn’t say anything. He guided them down to the riverbank, his eyes straining in the darkness. Were sharpshooters watching them right now, just waiting to shoot them as soon as they started swimming?

“Swim as hard as ye can,” Riley said. “The river is calm from above but mind the strong undercurrents. Don’t look back. Don’t hesitate. Our friends await ye on the other side. Understand?”

“Aye,” the men said.

He watched as one by one the men entered the river and started swimming across. Preserve them, holy Saint Patrick.

With the last of them in the river, Riley turned quickly back toward the camp. He knew where Maloney’s tent was. He also knew that he had befriended his tentmate, a German immigrant, Private Kirsch, a veteran of the Napoleonic Wars. Like al Germans, he received the same bad treatment from the Yanks.

Riley would take them both across if Kirsch would fol ow.

As he neared Maloney’s tent, four sentries marched past it, their muskets at their sides. Riley barely had time to throw himself on the ground. Once they were far away he continued cautiously. He hadn’t taken but three paces when he tripped over something heavy. It took him a moment to realize it was a slave sleeping on the dirt outside his master’s tent. The young man stared at Riley, too scared to make a sound.

Finger to his lips, Riley motioned for him to fol ow him out of earshot. He handed him a pamphlet, but suspecting the man couldn’t read, he whispered its contents. “You’d be a free man,” Riley said, pointing to the river. “The Yanks don’t al ow your kind into their muster rol s, but the Mexicans wil . Freedom and glory await you on the other side if you join us.”

The young man looked toward the river and nodded in understanding.

Riley made haste to his task. Once safely inside Maloney’s tent, he breathed a sigh of relief. He shook Maloney violently to rouse him from loud snoring.

“Wake up, you foolish spalpeen.”

Maloney stil snored.

“Wake up! Did you truly believe I would leave without ya!” Riley heard the sound of stirring in the other cot. He thought to wake up the German rst but was startled to turn and nd him already awake and lighting a candle. A glow was enough to see that it wasn’t Kirsch at al .

“Who are you, and what are you doing in this tent?” the soldier said in perfect American English.

Riley inhaled sharply. Of al the worst things that could happen, for Maloney to be stuck with a Yank for a tentmate. “Don’t be alarmed,” Riley said. “I’m just here for the ould fel a, that’s al .” He shook Maloney harder, urging him to wake up.“What the dickens? Riley is that you?” Maloney said as he opened his eyes.

“You told me to come back for you, and I did,” he said. From the corner of his eye, Riley watched the Yank moving steadily toward his musket leaning against the corner.

“Och, I beg pardon for lettin’ you down, lad. But in Heaven’s name, didn’t you know I’m sleepin’ with the enemy!”

“He’s a deserter, isn’t he?” The Yankee said as he grabbed his musket. He extinguished the candle and plunged them into total darkness.

With a quickness Riley hadn’t expected, Maloney leaped to throw himself atop his tentmate. Riley wrestled the musket away, though once he had it, he couldn’t see wel enough who was who. “Quiet, or I’l shoot!”

“And wake up the whole camp, too,” the Yank said. “Go on then, give yourselves away.”

He broke free of Maloney and threw himself against Riley, screaming as if to wake the dead. Riley punched him in the gut. The Yank fel and doubled over, gasping for breath.

“Do it, lad,” Maloney said.

Riley shook his head. “Hold him!” He snatched Maloney’s sheet and tore a large piece of it and rol ed it into a bal , which he stu ed into the soldier’s mouth. Then he tore o another strip and tied the soldier’s hands and feet.

“We’l have his life, but on the battle eld,” Riley said as he stood up, wiping his forehead. “I have no relish for murder.”

He poked his head out of the tent. Sentries were at the other end of the row, far enough for him and Maloney to move on, as long as they hid in the shadows.

“Come on then. Fol ow me.”

Maloney emerged from the tent carrying a bundle and handed it to him. “I took them from your tent afore the Yankees realized you were gone.”

Riley took the letters from Nel y and wrapped them in the oilcloth that had covered the lea ets. “I never thought I’d see them again!” he said. “Go raibh

maith agat. I’m indebted to you.”

“Níl, you came back for me, you did.”

They made it safely back to the river, to the spot where the others had crossed.

Maloney stood to the side, watching the water with terri ed eyes. Riley put an arm around him.

“The river puts me in a tremble. Wish I had another drop in me. I’d be braver if I was tipsy, to be sure.”

“Nay, better to have your wits about ya.”

“Ever since my missus and daughter died, my heart’s been as mirthless as an empty bottle of whiskey. I reckon if I drown tonight, at least I’l nal y be with them again.”

“No one’s drownin’ tonight, ould fel a,” Riley said.

Together they entered the river. The moon was swal owed up by the clouds once again and the darkness deepened. Maloney clung to Riley with astounding strength. “Here we go,” Riley said as he stroked through the black waters, shuddering at the sudden cold.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and al the Holy Martyrs, please preserve us!”

Maloney said under his breath.

Riley battled the current while Maloney pressed al his weight on him. Riley could barely keep his head above water. He wanted to tel Maloney to let his body oat, but opening his mouth meant taking deep gulps of water, hence he kept his lips closed and focused on his strokes.

“I can stil see it,” Maloney whispered. “I can see the waves partin’ for them and then closin’ in on them forever!” Terri ed, he tried to climb on top of Riley, plunging him deeper stil . He struggled to get loose from Maloney’s hold on him, but the old man held on with the grip of death. Riley kicked and labored madly to get to the surface, his lungs screaming for air, but Maloney was a dead weight. The current pul ed them along, and Riley knew that the sentries were downriver and he needed to swim harder, or they’d be caught. As they both sank into the water, with one last e ort, he pushed Maloney o him so he could

breathe, but when he returned to the surface, he was barely holding on to Maloney’s hand.

He took deep gulps of air and tried to get a better grip on his friend. “Don’t let go.”

“I can’t do it. I can’t!”

Then the river tore them asunder, and Maloney disappeared back into the black water. Riley dove after him, but he couldn’t see a thing.

He heard gunshots farther downriver and swam until he got ashore and crawled on his knees on the gravel, hiding amid a patch of reeds. He struggled to catch his breath, shivering in his wet clothes. Shame overcame him and soon tears burned in his eyes. I’ve let the river bear him away. May God have mercy on my soul.