Chapter 22

22

October 1846

San Luis Potosí

It took three brutal weeks for the Army of the North to cover the three hundred miles from Monterrey to San Luis Potosí, and the troops staggered into the city scarcely alive. But there was no time to settle down and recover from their toilsome journey. The remnants of Ampudia’s army were lined up at the plaza for review. There they were greeted by the new commander of the Mexican Army—General Antonio López de Santa Anna, who was back in the country after being exiled in Cuba.

Riley observed Santa Anna as he surveyed the troops, seated on a handsome stal ion, proud and erect, his silver stirrups and high saddle inlaid with gold glinting in the sunlight. He was dressed in a resplendent blue and red uniform embroidered with gold thread and decorated with epaulets and medals. From what Riley had heard, Santa Anna had not only led the Mexican Army against the Spaniards, the French, and the Texians, but had also been president of Mexico eight di erent times. A hero to some and a scoundrel to others, he was in his early fties, with his entire career marked by intrigue and corruption. But the one thing everyone agreed on was his valor on the battle eld, and he had a wooden leg to prove it.

After the review, Santa Anna cal ed a meeting with his council of war, where he berated Ampudia for the loss of Monterrey. General Mejía didn’t translate for Riley al that was said, but there was no need. The commander was in a furious passion. Ampudia spoke quickly and, from what Riley could catch of the Spanish, was simply repeating what he’d told the troops back in Monterrey—

that he’d surrendered to prevent further injury to innocent people. Though Riley believed his words had merit, he suspected that Ampudia had not been worried solely for the people’s safety. No, rst and foremost, the general had saved himself.

“It was an honorable capitulation,” Ampudia insisted.

“¡Basta! There’s nothing honorable in a capitulation, ¡imbécil!” Santa Anna spat, ripping o the gilded epaulets on Ampudia’s uniform, proceeding to chastise him further. Ampudia swal owed his words and lowered his head.

Riley had learned from General Mejía that their new commander was drafting the men in the city and the surrounding areas and had sent an order out to al the states to send him their forces. Santa Anna planned to build the biggest army Mexico had ever seen. “The next time we face the enemy, we wil run them o our land once and for al ,” he said. “The boundary between Mexico and the United States wil be determined by me—and the muzzles of my cannons.”

Throughout the fol owing days, Riley learned more about the general from Juan Cortina and Ximena. Neither of them liked or trusted the man. They talked about the Texas Rebel ion that Santa Anna had failed to suppress and the bitter times that fol owed. Later that week, Riley found himself being observed by the commander-in-chief during morning dril s. In the fol owing days, Santa Anna would come out to watch him training the artil ery crews to man the cannons. Riley wasn’t surprised when, by the week’s end, he was summoned to the government’s palace and escorted to the general’s headquarters.

“His Excel ency wil see you now, teniente Riley,” Santa Anna’s attendant said to him. As he walked into the room, Captain Moreno smiled and beckoned him over. Riley liked Moreno, who had been born and reared in Florida. He could speak English as wel as Spanish, and they’d become friends.

Santa Anna stood by his desk wearing a white uniform covered in gold—gold gal oon, gold epaulets, gold silk sash, and gold buttons engraved with the Mexican eagle. His black hair was perfectly groomed, and despite his sal ow complexion, the general was quite a striking man—elegant, poised, and tal er than many of his compatriots. He was sporting a walking cane with a golden handle in the shape of an eagle with ruby eyes.

The general didn’t speak English wel , but Captain Moreno was there to o er his services.

“I have heard good things about you, teniente Riley,” Santa Anna said, giving him a wide smile and a rm embrace. Riley was tal er than the general by four inches, and yet he felt dwarfed by the man’s stance, ful of con dence and regal authority.

“ ’Tis an honor to ght for you, General,” Riley said. By now he knew that many of the o cers in the Mexican Army were men of fortune who had gotten their commissions through family ties or political connections, not because of their skil s and knowledge of the military profession. He’d heard that some generals had attained that rank without ever passing through the lower ranks.

But the man who stood before him was di erent. Santa Anna began his military career at fourteen as a cadet and saw action as young as seventeen. He had risen in rank through sagacity and savage determination. Despite what anyone said were the general’s failings, Riley believed Santa Anna was likely to prove to be a formidable foe to the Yankee generals. With him, Mexico might stand a chance.

The general poured himself a glass of brandy and another for Riley. Then he said something and waited for Captain Moreno to translate. “The commander wants to know how you are liking our country.”

Before Riley could answer, Santa Anna interjected in his limited English.

“Good food, no? Pretty señoritas?” He laughed.

Riley thought of Ximena, the gleam of starlight upon her breasts. It’d taken every ounce of wil power to resist, but the image had haunted him every night since. He shook his head to free himself of it.

Captain Moreno and Santa Anna chuckled and exchanged glances. “Ah, I see that our women have made a great impression on you already.”

Riley took a drink of the brandy and felt his throat burn. He let the alcohol relax him and said, “I have eyes, and I’ve had occasion to observe the beauty of which you speak, your Excel ency. I cannot deny there are many beauties in your country. But I have a wife back home, and I won’t forget my duty as a husband.”

“And so you won’t. Wives are meant to be treasured, but we must not deny ourselves a little pleasure once in a while, especial y when we are at war. When

you live your life one day to the next not knowing if you wil live or die, a woman’s arms can be of great comfort. Don’t you agree?”

“The love of a woman is indeed a great gift.”

The general took a seat behind his desk and placed his cane beside him. He motioned for Riley to take a seat as wel . Captain Moreno came to stand behind the commander to continue translating for him. “Tel me, Lieutenant, what made you desert the Yanqui army? Why are you here in Mexico?”

Riley was surprised at the commander’s bluntness, but he knew that the general had every right to ask. He, too, would be wary of foreigners in his ranks.

“I assure you, General, that even though I’m a turncoat and have violated my oath to the United States, I’m not a man who easily abandons his obligations.

My loyalties are with Mexico.”

Santa Anna waved his words away. “I understand, teniente Riley, believe me, I do. I’ve been a turncoat as wel , several times, in fact. I’ve been a royalist and an insurgent, a federalist and a centralist, a liberal and a conservative, but I always had a reason. Stil , that’s not why I’m asking. Your countrymen intrigue me.

We’ve never had so many deserters in our ranks. We have a tradition of welcoming foreigners into our army—British, French, even the damn Yanquis fought in our War of Independence against Spain, but they were not deserters, as you are.”

“I don’t speak for my countrymen, but for myself—though most of my men share the same sentiments—I believe Mexico could turn into another Ireland, sir, and be forced to su er under the oppression of an invadin’ Anglo-Saxon Protestant nation. I wasn’t able to help my country. I desire to help yours in its hour of peril.”

“I see. And I’m grateful for your service, Lieutenant, and your loyalty. Mexico has had its share of wars. There have been others who have come here to try to plunder her riches and her beauty. I myself have led my country against invaders before, and as you can see from my mutilated leg, I have purchased my country’s freedom with my own esh.” The general poured himself, Moreno, and Riley another glass of brandy before continuing. “Now once again the national honor has been entrusted to me, and I assure you that we wil defeat the Yanquis. Just

like we defeated the Spaniards and the French. Mexico belongs to the Mexican people. Perhaps one day you can say the same about the land of your birth.”

“May I live to see that day, sir, if that is God’s wil .” Riley left his drink on the desk, hoping he didn’t insult his host by declining a second glass, and waited for the general to reveal why he’d been summoned.

“I’ve received a letter from the Yanqui general. He’s terminating the armistice he negotiated with General Ampudia. So it won’t be long now before he advances to San Luis Potosí. My generals tel me that you and your countrymen did an outstanding job in Monterrey. And based on what I’ve seen with my own eyes during your daily dril s, I want more men like you in our ranks. There are many foreigners in the enemy’s ranks with military experience, and we need to get more of them to join us. Enough to form an artil ery unit of foreign soldiers under Irish leadership. Think of it, John Riley and his battalion. What shal we name it? And, as be tting a unit, you shal have your own banner.”

Riley sat forward at the edge of his seat and glanced up at Moreno, who seemed as pleased by the news as he was. A unit of deserters with their own colors? No, he had never considered such a possibility. So far, he and his men had been serving in regular army units, though he had been given free rein in training them. He put his hand in his pocket and took out the shamrock Franky Sul ivan had whittled, and the image of a banner appeared in his mind’s eye, the same banner of freedom that he wished to see unfurled over his native soil. It would be as green as the elds of the Emerald Isle, with a shamrock on one side and its patron saint on the other. “The Saint Patrick’s Battalion,” he said. “That shal be the name.”

“¡Excelente! El Batal ón de San Patricio,” Santa Anna said. Moreno nodded his approval.

“We’l need more men for what you propose, sir,” Riley said, keeping his excitement in check.

“That is where you come in.” Santa Anna caressed the golden eagle on the hilt of his cane and said, “You wil make sure that your countrymen learn of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. When they hear of you—its Irish leader—it wil inspire them to abandon their ranks in the Yanqui army and come ght for us. Do you think you can achieve that, teniente Riley?”

“Aye, sir, I believe I can.” A unit composed of only foreign soldiers would be a powerful attraction to his countrymen and others in the Yankee ranks. If he put out the cal , the men would come. Hadn’t some of them done so back in Matamoros and Monterrey? The plan to organize a foreign legion composed solely of deserters was bril iant. He only prayed the Mexicans would win the war, for otherwise, he would have his men’s blood on his hands, turning out to be nothing but a Pied Piper who led his own countrymen to their deaths.

“¡Excelente! It is settled then,” Santa Anna said, standing up. “I wil designate capitán Moreno here as your commander. He’l al ow you to organize and train el Batal ón de San Patricio as you see t. Once the battalion proves its worth, I shal personal y see to it that you’re promoted.”

“I understand, sir. And I feel much obliged to you, sir, for the faith you have placed in me.”

“I assure you, teniente Riley, Mexico won’t disappoint you. We’re a republic of ghters and aren’t afraid to stand up to oppressors. We wil defeat the Yanqui invaders, even if I have to lose my other leg. Or my very life. Defending Mexico is a sacred cause, and I thank you for your services to this great nation. Together, we shal put an end to the national agony.”

“Perhaps one day, your Excel ency, you wil help Ireland with its misfortunes,” Riley said.

“Of course. We are brethren, are we not? Our Catholic faith is a bond that is as strong as blood.”

Riley saluted his commander with newfound appreciation. Cortina and Ximena had warned him to be careful, and he would be, but it was di cult not to believe in him. The Saint Patrick’s Battalion—he loved the sound of it.

When he was dismissed, Riley headed to the Temple of Our Lady del Carmen a few blocks distant, made of Mexican cantera stone that glowed pink in the afternoon sun. Ximena had taken to praying there in the afternoons, and though his schedule rarely al owed him time to join her, that day, he was

desperate to see her. He wanted her to be the rst to hear the news of his meeting with Santa Anna.

As he traversed the plaza fronting the palace, he fancied himself there with Ximena, listening to the bal ads being played by the musicians on the kiosk, the Spanish lyrics a string of sighs. Men and women out for a strol dressed in their elegant nery greeted him—the dons, in their embroidered jackets, tipped their broad-brimmed hats at him; the doñas lowered their lacy fans to reward him with a smile. “Buenas tardes, teniente,” they said.

“Buenas tardes,” Riley responded. Even after al these months, he was stil shocked at how the Mexican aristocrats treated him. Previously, a man like him knew only scorn and disdain from the higher classes, but now he found himself being treated like a human being. And it wasn’t for his skil s, he knew that.

Mexico was a land where skin ranged in colors, from the deepest brown to the palest pink. He’d not seen anything like it. His fair skin and blue eyes had never a orded him either privileges or admiration before.

He passed the busy cafés, fondas, and shops. Unlike the Río Grande region, this old city, surrounded by mountains with gold and silver mines and a population of sixty thousand souls, had pleasant weather year-round and, best of al , no dreadful humidity. This is why Riley was not surprised to see the streets teeming with people. As he stood before the doors of the temple, stone angels hovered above him, carved into the intricate facade. He entered the temple and was at once overwhelmed by the ornate gilded retablos rising high above him, the decorated pulpits, and the glassy eyes of saints watching him from their pedestals. He wasn’t used to so much opulence and grandeur. For a moment, he missed the humble chapel in Clifden, whose stone wal s were covered in moss, not gold leaf.

Making the sign of the cross, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside before searching for Ximena among the kneeling gures. Silently, he made his way to the front until he spotted her before the golden altar of the Virgin.

Like al Mexican women, she wore a long shawl over her shoulders, and her black hair was woven into an intricate braid that wrapped over her head like a crown.

Not wanting to disturb her, he knelt a few paces behind, but she must have

sensed him staring at her, because she turned around and her eyes widened in surprise.

“John!” she said, a little too loudly. Her voice—his name—echoing against the golden wal s of the church. She blushed, and he could tel she’d forgotten where she was. Methinks the lass is happy to see the likes of you, Seán Ó

Raghallaigh, he thought, and despite himself, he grinned like a lovesick schoolboy.

“I beg pardon for distractin’ you from your prayers,” he whispered.

“You aren’t,” she said. “I was thinking about Jimmy, about how much he loved to pray.”

“Aye, he was a pious man. A true believer.” Suddenly he no longer wanted to be in there, especial y not under the watchful eyes of the saints and Jesus.

Though he had not acted upon his longings for Ximena, just having them was sinful enough. “Would you like to take a strol in the square?”

She nodded, and he o ered her his arm as they headed out into the sunny afternoon. A ock of doves was circling above the church. Riley took in the beauty of the temple domes, with their tiles of blue, green, yel ow, and white glinting under the Mexican sky.

“It’s a beautiful church, isn’t it?” Ximena asked as they walked toward the plaza. More people were coming out now to enjoy the afternoon breeze.

“Aye, ’tis truly magni cent, but even more impressive is the cathedral yonder,” he said, pointing to the Catedral Metropolitana just a block away. “I’ve never seen so many majestic churches in my life. Nay, I have never seen so many churches, to be sure!”

“You do not have in Ireland?”

“Many of our ancient churches and temples were destroyed and de led. And several of our cathedrals were stolen from us by the Protestant sassenachs during the Reformation.” He told her about the Penal Laws against Catholics, and how it’d been only seventeen years since the last of them were ended by the great Daniel O’Connel ’s campaign for Catholic Emancipation. With the Irish people stripped of their rights and persecuted for practicing their faith, not many large stone places of worship had been built until recently. “But one day, I hope, the

Green Isle can once again become a land of cathedrals, shrines, and convents, just like Mexico. And be restored to its days of glory.”

“I pray for it, John.”

He took his eyes o the cathedral and turned to look at Ximena. “I had a meetin’ with General Santa Anna, lass. He’s givin’ me my own company—the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. I’l be ghtin’ under my own banner now!”

Ximena listened attentively as he relayed the details of the meeting, but he could tel she had reservations.

“Are you not pleased for me?”

“Perdón. I do not wish to ruin your happiness. To have your own company is important to you, I know, and you deserve it. But be careful with Santa Anna.

Do not sacri ce your honor for him.”

“I appreciate your concern, Ximena. Truly, I do. And I shal be careful. But for now, the commander has a orded me this opportunity, and I won’t lie to you, ’tis the best thin’ that has ever happened to me in my military career. I believe in my soul I can prove to him ’tis not fol y to put his trust in me.”

“I understand. Now, tel me, your banner.”

“Wil you sew it for me?”

She laughed. “My grandmother taught me to stitch esh. Fabric not so much.

Don’t worry, the nuns at the convent have excel ent sewing. I wil ask them to make for you.”

“You think they’l help me? I have the design already. I can see it plain in my head.” He closed his eyes and said, “There… it ies over my cannons!”

“Tel me, tel me what it looks like!”

“It is green, as green as my isle, and embroidered on it are the words that wil forever be etched on my heart: Erin Go Bragh!”

“What it means, John?”

“Ireland forever!”

Unable to control himself, he lifted her aloft and twirled her around. She let out a yelp of surprise, and some of the passersby stopped and gave them disapproving looks, but he didn’t care.