Chapter 23

23

November 1846

San Luis Potosí

Over the course of the weeks, Santa Anna’s army began to take shape. Many states of Mexico, including Jalisco, Michoacán, Guanajuato, Aguascalientes, and San Luis Potosí, provided al the troops and supplies they could. Riley was surprised that other states hesitated to ful l their duty in supporting the campaign; some, such as Durango and Zacatecas, refused to send reinforcements altogether. It ba ed him that instead of uniting and cooperating to defeat the enemy to the north, some state leaders were al owing their animosity for Santa Anna to cloud their judgment, looking for any pretext to oust him. The governor of Zacatecas, a rival of Santa Anna, had even tried to get a group of states to form an al iance against him, going so far as to proclaim that he would rather see the Yankees win the war than see Santa Anna triumph. Riley was perplexed. This was their chance to defeat the invaders and get them out of their country, especial y now that the ghting had spread to New Mexico and California. Mexico was in dire danger. Why couldn’t the Mexican leaders see that and put their squabbles aside to unite for this single cause?

With the federal government providing a minimum of resources, Santa Anna had been compel ed to mortgage his own properties to have enough funds for his army. Yet there wasn’t enough food, clothing, weapons, or ammunition to train the men, so progress was slow. Santa Anna forced a loan from the Church, and due to great opposition from the clergy, he only got a part of what he’d requested. Stil , the general persisted in his e orts to raise an army. Riley couldn’t

help but admire him, for in no time at al , he had built up his troops to more than twenty thousand men.

As Riley and Santa Anna had predicted, once news of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion got out, deserters ocked to its standard. Every day foreign soldiers arrived in San Luis Potosí after having separated themselves from Taylor’s forces stil stationed in Monterrey and Camargo. Santa Anna put out the cal to al Mexican civilians to aid these foreigners and deliver them to him. Rancheros and priests were largely responsible for guiding the deserters safely across the deserts and mountains to San Luis Potosí. Riley soon had more than one hundred and fty men in his unit—mostly Irish, some Germans, with a sprinkling of Scots, French, Poles, Italians, and Prussians, three runaway slaves, and even an Englishman. Capitán Moreno and Riley welcomed the new recruits together, but trusting Riley’s gunnery skil s, the captain al owed him to organize and train the gun crews and wagon teams to man the caissons and the 16- and 24-pounders that Santa Anna had turned over to them. With the brand-new Saint Patrick’s Battalion banner—which he’d taken to the church to be blessed—

ying in the breeze, Riley dril ed the recruits daily until he was satis ed with their speed and precision. He shouted his instructions in English, Irish, Latin, and even German, using the few phrases he’d learned, and timed his crews as they hitched the cannons to the horse-drawn wagons, hauled them to speci c spots, and red practice rounds. As he watched the dril s taking place under his green banner, Riley couldn’t have been prouder of what he’d accomplished.

And yet his mind was troubled. General Santa Anna had secured 21,553 men for his army, but that gave him an advantage only in numbers. The Mexican rank and le was, by and large, composed of prisoners or barefoot and ragged Indian conscripts armed with machetes or discarded muskets purchased for almost nothing from the English. Santa Anna had managed to acquire twenty-one pieces for his artil ery to command, but the quality of the weaponry and the ammunition was inferior to what the Yanks had in their possession. Riley knew

that the superb training of his crew couldn’t overcome the poor caliber of the cannons, which had a third of the range of the Yankee guns.

“We might not have the quality, but we have the quantity,” Santa Anna reassured him when Riley brought up his concerns. Taylor had a third of the troops Santa Anna now had at his disposal. Riley hoped the general was right, that their superiority in numbers would supersede the Yanks’ superiority in weaponry. But past experiences had taught him otherwise—thus far, the Yankee general had beaten the Mexican forces in spite of his de ciency in troops.

Despite the chal enges, Santa Anna’s Army of Liberation would soon be ready to leave this beautiful city. Meanwhile, Riley wasted no time dril ing the battalion. After a hard day’s work of training, they’d go out and enjoy al the amusements San Luis Potosí had to o er. His men preferred visiting the cantinas, frolicking with the Mexican señoritas, and attending the bul ghts or Santa Anna’s cock ghts on the weekends. Riley relished the fandangos and strol s 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 di cult 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 Nel y, 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 fel ow Irishman.

“I’d like you to meet Patrick Dalton,” Santa Anna said. “Like you, he served in the British Army and is a skil ed artil erist, or so he tel s me,” he said with a

laugh.

Dalton saluted Riley respectful y.

“At ease, soldier. And where in the Green Isle do you hail from?” Riley asked.

“County Mayo, sir,” Dalton said in a con dent voice.

“I’m a Connacht man myself, from Clifden. A pleasure to meet you,” Riley said as he shook his countryman’s hand.

“Tel 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 nished quickly and was given leave to return to camp. But instead, he sneaked into a corn eld and hid there until nightfal . Before anyone could come looking for him in the eld, 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 su erin’ the Yanks’ ridicule and contempt.”

Dalton had been helped by two rancheros who, fol owing 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 ght under your banner, sir. We Mayo men have a special a nity for our patron saint, as you wel know, Lieutenant Riley,” he said with a smile.

“Our holy Mayo mountain bears his name.”

“Wel , 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. “Wel , gentlemen, it seems my carriage awaits me. Would you do me the honor of being my guests tonight? I’ve organized a private cock ght with some of my compatriots to raise more funds for our cause, and I’m sure you wil enjoy it. Teniente Riley, I’ve not seen you at one of my cock ghts yet, and I hate the thought of you missing out on the greatest sport in al of Mexico!” He grabbed his cane and gestured for them to fol ow him.

Riley looked at Dalton and smiled at seeing the surprise on his face. Though he had yet to attend one of the ghts, 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 al the sunshine, and we the rain.”

The cock ght was held at the private residence of one of the city’s wealthiest citizens. The pit had been special y 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 o cers, Riley deduced that in Mexico, cock ghting 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 stil patronized the cock ghts 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 elds 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 cock ghter’s prayer, “Ave María purísima, los gal os 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 ghting cocks, and like their owner, the game fowl demanded respect and admiration. Watching as the spectators—including the ne ladies who didn’t nd 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 ghting commenced, Santa Anna’s rst fowl emerged the victor. With its opponent dead at its feet in a pool of blood, the cock pu ed 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 wel 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 ghting of the peasantry.

“Are you an admirer?” he asked Dalton as they watched the games unfold.

“Ní maith liom é,” he said, shaking his head. “But my ould fel a enjoyed it very much. He would take me to the taverns or barns to see them.”

“Mise freisin,” Riley said. “My father believed that the sport was not cruel.

He said the cock can quit the ght at any point he wants. ’Tis his choice to run or to stay.”

“Aye, I never knew if ’twas bravery or foolishness that makes most cocks ght to the death,” Dalton said.

“There’s a ne line between bravery and foolishness, to be sure,” Riley replied.

When Santa Anna won every single match, his generals and o cers stood and saluted him. By then, the man was half-gone with brandy, but he stil managed to give the crowd a rousing speech. Riley couldn’t understand everything the commander said, but judging from al the times the crowd shouted “¡Viva México!” and “¡Muerte a los gringos!” he knew the general’s remarks had inspired them.

Abandoning his female companions for a moment, Santa Anna approached Riley and Dalton. He said something to the crowd about el Batal ón de San Patricio and proposed a toast, whereupon everyone raised their glasses as the general shouted, “¡Viva la República Mexicana! ¡Viva Irlanda! ¡Vivan los San Patricios!”

Over the next few days, Riley became acquainted with the newest recruit of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. Since Dalton, too, had donned the hated redcoat back in Ireland, Riley found in him someone who was just as haunted by his service to the sassenachs. They had the same stain upon their souls. In Dalton, he also found an artil erist who matched his own skil s and passion for gunnery tactics.

At Riley’s recommendation, Santa Anna promoted Dalton to second lieutenant and made him Riley’s second-in-command. After donning his new o cer’s uniform, Dalton put an arm around Riley and said, “One day, Lieutenant Riley, we wil take the Saint Patrick’s Battalion to Ireland and continue to ght for our sacred cause. We shal be like the Wild Geese, the sons of Ireland comin’ home to set it free.”