Riley remembered the camp followers, 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 pe eping 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 well. “Ah,” the general said, looking keenly at him, “now that I can see your face, I reckon I know you. You got into a scuffle 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. “Well, 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 well.” The image of Franky Sullivan suddenly returned to him, along with the old anger. He turned on his heel and proceeded toward the tents, not even bothering to r eply to the general when he wished him a good night. Maloney spotted Riley first as he neared the gleaming light of the campfire. “Bejesus!” he said. “Look who’s come back — ?” “Whist, whist!” Riley urged hastily as he rushed to join them. “You’ll give me away, shriekin’ like a banshee.” Realizing his folly, Maloney beckoned everyone closer in to block Riley from view. Soldiers passed by now and then, and Riley was ill at ease thinking that one of them might be a Yankee from his own former unit and go running to Captain Merrill. He scooted closer to the fire, thankful for a bit of heat on a still - 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 ho w 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 first time in my life,” Quinn said. “Aye. Every single one of ye fellas could be landowners,” Riley said. “All your days of drudgery will be behind ye. There’ll be no more absentee landlords, no more redcoats and police comin’ to tumble your roofs and turn ye out of your fields, no more Yank ees to mistreat ye and make ye rue the day ye crossed the Atlantic. Ye’ll have land and can practice your faith as ye will.” “Tell us about the Mexicans. Have they shown themselves better Christians than the Yanks?” Quinn asked. “Aye,” Riley said. “They’ve offered me friendship and their confidence. They appreciate my skills and recompense my hard work and insight. They’ve even made me a lieutenant, I tell ye. And if ye come with me, that’s how ye shall be treated as well.” “ ’Tis a big risk,” Flanagan said. “And if we’re caught, the Yanks will show us no more mercy than they showed Franky Sullivan.” “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 artillery. I cannot bear the bitterness of my soul at the thought of spillin’ your blood! The Mexicans have agreed to let me t rain ye all as battery gunners. Ye won’t be common foot soldiers but cannoneers!” The men looked at one another and said nothing. “By the holy fists of the blessed Saint Patrick, mind what I’m sayin’, eh? Ye all can die here, too, in infantry blue. Ye’ll have a better chance with the Mexicans. Beyond on the other side of the river, ye’ll be surrounded by people who’ll treat ye with respect, who’ll offer ye friendship and call ye brothers and Catholics. Not savages. Not Micks or potatoheads. Not deserters or traitors.” Riley stood up. He still 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 will be wai tin’ 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 fella, you told me to come back for ya, and I have. Sunshine and storm, remember?” “Aye. I know well enough you’re here for me.” Maloney took a swig of whiskey, looked at the fire, and said, “But Riley, this poor ould creature of five and sixty hasn’t — ”
“ — lost his mettle yet,” Riley finished for him. “I’ll meet you at the river then, eh?” He retreated into the shadows to wait until the bugles sounded their call to quarters and watched his former messmates retire to their tents. The camp was soon still but for the night patrol. He was a tall man, an easy target, but Riley was quick on his fe et and he made no sounds as he wound his way down each company street. He carefully placed short stacks of leaflets on the ground in front of the tents as he went. He’d let the wind do the rest. When he was finished, he retreated to the riverbank. It was harder to see where he was st epping, but he listened to the roaring of the river and followed the sound until finally, his feet were on the shore. At first, 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 st ep out of the tall 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 all Germans, he re ceived the same bad treatment from the Yanks. Riley would take them both across if Kirsch would follow. 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 sle eping 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 follow 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 allow your kind into their muster rolls, but the Mexicans will. 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 still 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 first but was startled to turn and find him already awake and lighting a candle. A glow was enough to see that i t wasn’t Kirsch at all. “Who are you, and what are you doing in this tent?” the soldier said in perfect American English. Riley inhaled sharply. Of all 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 fella, that’s all.” 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 sle epin’ 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 well enough who was who. “Quiet, or I’ll 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 fell 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 rolled it into a ball, which he stuffed into the soldier’s mouth. Then he tore off another strip and tied the soldier’s hands and feet. “We’ll have his life, but on the battlefield,” 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. Follow 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 Nelly and wrapped them in the oilcloth that had covered the leaflets. “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 terrified 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’ll finally be with them again.” “No one’s drownin’ tonight, ould fella,” Riley said. Together they entered the river. The moon was swallowed up by the clouds once again and the darkness de epened. 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 Jos eph, and all the Holy Martyrs, please preserve us!” Maloney said under his breath. Riley battled the current while Maloney pressed all his weight on him. Riley could barely ke ep his head above water. He wanted to tell Maloney to let his body float, but opening his mouth meant taking de ep gulps of water, hence he k ept his lips closed and focused on his strokes. “I can still see it,” Maloney whispered. “I can see the waves partin’ for them and then closin’ in on them forever!” Terrified, he tried to climb on top of Riley, plunging him de eper still. 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 pulled 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 effort, he pushed Maloney off him so he could breathe, but when he returned to the surface, he was barely holding on to Maloney’s hand. He took de ep 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. April 1846 Matamoros, Río Bravo “I miss him terribly, Nana,” Ximena said, as she and her grandmother walked arm in arm out of the Catedral de Nuestra Señora del Refugio into the morning light. It was here, in this temple, where she and Joaquín had married. But now, she had been forced to sit through a different kind of service — a mass for the r epose of his soul. This wasn’t the future she’d imagined for the two of them when they promised to love each other until death tore them apart. “I should have tried harder to stop him.” “He would have resented you for ke eping him from doing what honor demanded of him,” Nana Hortencia said, wrapping her rebozo around her shoulders, her silver braids shining as bright as two moonbeams. “He was a good man and a good husband. But just because he isn’t with you in the flesh doesn’t mean he isn’t still with you, mijita. His spirit will always live.” Ximena stared at the ground and said nothing. Her grandmother gently raised her chin and looked up tenderly at Ximena. “Let God help you to let go of your sorrow, mijita. Acc epting loss and grieving what is no more takes time, but you have the strength to heal. You always have.” “I wish I could believe as you do, Nana.” “One day you will. Right now, you must work through your grief.” Nana Hortencia hugged her tightly and said, “Come, let us gather some estafiate by the river, and I will give you a limpia to lift the sorrow from your heart and restore your harmony.”