As Riley and Santa Anna had predicted, once news of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion got out, deserters flocked to its standard. Every day foreign soldiers arrived in San Luis Potosí after having s eparated themselves from Taylor’s forces still stationed in Mo nterrey and Camargo. Santa Anna put out the call to all 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 fifty 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 skills, the captain allowed 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 bless ed — flying in the breeze, Riley drilled the recruits daily until he was satisfied 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 specific spots, and fired practice rounds. As he watched the drills 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 file was, by and large, composed of prisoners or barefoot and ragged Indian conscripts armed with ma chetes or discarded muskets purchased for almost nothing from the English. Santa Anna had managed to acquire twenty - one pieces for his artillery to command, but the quality of the weaponry and the ammunition was inferior to what the Yanks had in their poss ession. 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 number s 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 deficiency in troops. Despite the challenges, Santa Anna’s Army of Liberation would soon be ready to leave this beautiful city. Meanwhile, Riley wasted no time drilling the battalion. After a hard day’s work of training, they’d go out and enjoy all the amusements San Luis Potos í had to offer. His men preferred visiting the cantinas, frolicking with the Mexican señoritas, and attending the bullfights or Santa Anna’s cockfights on the weekends. Riley relished the fandangos and strolls around the public square with Ximena, their di nners 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 difficult 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 Nelly, 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 fellow Irishman. “I’d like you to meet Patrick Dalton,” Santa Anna said. “Like you, he served in the British Army and is a skilled artillerist, or so he tells me,” he said with a laugh. Dalton saluted Riley respectfully. “At ease, soldier. And where in the Green Isle do you hail from?” Riley asked. “County Mayo, sir,” Dalton said in a confident voice. “I’m a Connacht man myself, from Clifden. A pleasure to meet you,” Riley said as he shook his countryman’s hand. “Tell 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 s eparated 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. D alton had finished quickly and was given leave to return to camp. But instead, he sneaked into a cornfield and hid there until nightfall. Before anyone could come looking for him in the field, 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 sufferin’ the Yanks’ ridicule and contempt.” Dalton had been helped by two rancheros who, following 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. “ ’Tw ould be a great honor to join the Saint Patrick’s Battalion and fight under your banner, sir. We Mayo men have a special affinity for our patron saint, as you well know, Lieutenant Riley,” he said with a smile. “Our holy Mayo mountain bears his name.” “Well, 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. “Well, gentlemen, it se ems my carriage awaits me. Would you do me the honor of being my guests tonight? I’ve organized a private cockfight with some of my compatriots to raise more funds for our cause, and I’m sure you will enjoy it.
Teniente Riley, I’ve not seen you at one of my cockfights yet, and I hate the thought of you missing out on the greatest sport in all of Mexico!” He grabbed his cane and gestured for them to follow him. Riley looked at Dalton and smiled at seeing the surprise on his face. Though he had yet to attend one of the fights, 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 w ith the Irish, eh?” Dalton nodded. “Aye. Course the Mexicans got all the sunshine, and we the rain.” The cockfight was held at the private residence of one of the city’s wealthiest citizens. The pit had been specially constructed for this occasion in the splendid courtyard, and chairs had been placed on three sides of it. Judging by the presence of the mo st distinguished gentlemen and ladies, along with army generals and officers, Riley deduced that in Mexico, cockfighting 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 still patronized the cockfights 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 de ep into the fields 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 cockfighter’s prayer, “Ave María purísima, los gallos vienen.” As the games got underway, Riley observed Santa Anna, as merry as could be, standing by the pit with a beau tiful woman on each arm. The commander had brought six of his best fighting cocks, and like their owner, the game fowl demanded respect and admiration. Watching as the spectators — including the fine ladies who didn’t find it beneath them to support their fa vorite 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 fighting commenced, Santa Anna’s first fowl emerged the victor. With its opponent dead at its feet in a pool of blood, the cock puffed up its chest and crowed, causing the people to cheer and Santa A nna to take a bow. When Riley saw the heaps of gold being wagered, it struck him how orderly and well 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 fighting 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 fella 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 fight 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 fight to the death,” Dalton said. “There’s a fine line between bravery and foolishness, to be sure,” Riley r eplied. When Santa Anna won every single match, his generals and officers stood and saluted him. By then, the man was half - gone with brandy, but he still managed to give the crowd a rousing speech. Riley couldn’t understand everything the commander said, but judgi ng from all 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 Batallón de San Patricio and proposed a toast, whereupon everyone raised their glasses as the general shouted, “¡Viva la R epúblic a 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 artillerist who matched his own skills and passion for gunnery tactics. At Riley’s recommendation, Santa Anna promoted Dalton to second lieutenant and made him Riley’s second - in - comman d. After donning his new officer’s uniform, Dalton put an arm around Riley and said, “One day, Lieutenant Riley, we will take the Saint Patrick’s Battalion to Ireland and continue to fight for our sacred cause. We shall be like the Wild Geese, the sons of Ireland comin’ home to set it free.” November 1846 San Luis Potosí Early one morning, Ximena found herself being escorted to Santa Anna’s private quarters. When she entered his chambers, he was on a large four - poster bed reclining on fancy feather pillows trimmed with lace, a glass of brandy in his hand. John had told her that the previous evening after the nightly junta of officers, the commander had been feeling ill, and General Mejía, who had heard of her skills, recommended that Santa Anna send for her. John had no choice but to
second Mejía. Although Santa Anna had his own personal physician, he’d followed his officers’ recommendation and now here she was this morning, in the presence of the man she’d wished to avoid. When the servant pulled back the mosquito netting, she could see his face flushed and sweaty from fever, with large beads of perspiration gathered on his prominent forehead. He bid her closer, watching her approach with his dark, penetrating eyes. His lowe r lip protruded naturally, making him seem as if he were permanently pouting. Ximena was taken aback by how he looked without his elaborate uniforms and gold cane. He seemed more like a sickly schoolmaster than the army’s general - in - chief. “Forgive me for not greeting you properly, señora Ximena, but as you can see, I’m obliged to ke ep to my bed, very much indisposed. Thank you for agreeing to minister to my injury. Teniente Riley and General Mejía speak very highly of your skills as a heale r.” “I’m at your service, your Excellency,” she said, almost choking on the words.