On his end, Riley welcomed more deserters into the Saint Patrick’s Battalion, including a few foreigners who’d been residing in the capital, but he needed more men. Aware that many of the prisoners of war in the Mexican prison cells were Irish, Germans, Po les, and American deserters, he decided to seek them out and recruit them. At the Santiago Tlatelolco Prison, Riley and Patrick Dalton went from cell to cell, observing the men before addressing any of them. The Yankee prisoners would most likely not heed his calling, and though Santa Anna had given him a written order empowering him to take any American prisoner into the Saint Patrick’s Battalion, he wanted only men he could trust, who would become San Patricios of their own free will. Eighteen of the foreign - born prisoners had petitioned the British consul general in Mexico to help them. These were the ones Riley most wanted to talk to. Since the British consul would do nothing for them, joining the Mexican ranks was their only hope for now, and he would make sure they understood that. At the third cell, Patrick Dalton stopped and pointed to one of the men sitting on the ground. “That’s one of the eighteen,” he said as he pointed, “Matthew Doyle. And there’s Patrick Casey over there, Henry Ockter, and Roger Hogan.” After glancing at the men, Riley decided to address them. “Good afternoon, brave fellas,” he said in a de ep, loud voice, so all the prisoners could hear. “I’m Captain John Riley, and this is my second - in - command, Lieutenant Patrick Dalton. We’re here to off er ye assistance.” One of the Yankees spat on the ground. “I want nothing from the likes of you, traitors.” Undaunted, Riley pressed on. “This is no place for fine soldiers such as yourselves. I can offer ye food, lodgin’, clothin’, and fair wages, but my best offer is this — a chance to live a life with honor and dignity, a life where ye’ll be respected and recom pensed for your skills and bravery. Join the Saint Patrick’s Battalion, and I promise ye your merits shall be recognized. This isn’t like the
Yankee army. Here with the Mexicans, ye’ll be promoted for your skills and your contribution to the war, as ye deserve.” “Leave us be, John Riley. A bigger coward never set foot in this prison,” an Irishman said. “Listen to me, fellas. The Americans will soon be makin’ their way upon the National Highway. Ye all know what’s goin’ to happen to ye when they get here. All of ye are already doomed men. But if ye stand with us and fight for Mexico against the wicked inv aders, the Mexican government will reward ye — ” “That’s all very fine talk, Captain,” another prisoner said. “But how do we know to believe ya?” Riley pulled out the paper he’d brought with him and waved it before the men. “I have negotiated a contract with the Mexican government, signed by President Santa Anna himself. At the war’s end, they will give you lands to cultivate. Or, if you do not wish to settle in this country, you shall be embarked for Europe at the expense of the Mexican government with all your pay.” Riley saw some of the men nodding in approval. But others refused to look at him. He directed his words at them. “ ’Tis better to stand up and fight than to sit in a cell and wait for death to come to ye, brave fellas. There’s no honor or glory in that. Ye must decide if ye are goin’ to wait for the Yanks here, sitting helpless, or come and man one of my cannons.” He let his words linger in the air, and he and Dalton waited for the men to make their choice. When they left the prison, they had twenty - three men enlisted in the battalion. Riley expected them to r eport the next day, and he put Dalton in charge of the ne w recruits. After his errands, Riley made his way to the barracks up the wide principal streets, relishing the sights of the metropolis. Mexico City was unlike any city he’d ever seen. It was breathtaking. The capital boasted the finest houses, churches, and public bu ildings, especially the Palacio Nacional, which stretched for an entire city block. Then there was the glorious beauty of the Catedral Metropolitana in Gothic style, with its interior decorated with gold, silver, and copper. At fourteen acres, the main squ are, the Plaza de la Constitución, was the largest in the country. The private residences nearby were two or three stories high, with terraces on their roofs and high windows and balconies decorated with intricate ironwork and brilliant flowers. He would have loved to have seen the city, with its population of one hundred and eighty thousand souls, with its normal hustle and bustle. Now, the movement in the streets was mostly that of the troops, priests, and monks, and the Indian vendors and their droning cries. In anticipation of the impending battle, little by little families were leaving the Valley of Mexico to avoid the hostilities. Every day, Riley would see carriages or carts loaded with all manner of possessions, horses and mules packed with boxes and crates, men, women, and children making
their way on foot with baskets and whatever else they could carry. Those who remained secluded themselves in their homes and emerged only to purchase their necessities from the shops that were still open and from the ambulant peddlers with clay pots of cha rcoal, lard, cheese, or baskets of tortillas hanging from their backs. There was a multitude of Indian beggars and l epers, bundles of rags and deformities and squalid misery. When he saw their arms stretching out for alms, asking him for “un tlaco, por favor, niño,” Riley handed out some copper coins and thought of the mendic ants back home, and how Mexican and Irish poverty were not so different at all. Having this glimpse of another country’s misery made him feel less alone. What could he do to help the destitute es cape their condition, this degrading poverty that seemed so s imilar in both lands? When he passed by an old Indian woman selling herbs from a basket, she looked so much like Ximena’s grandmother that Riley thought he was seeing a ghost. She gave him a gap - toothed smile and handed him a bunch of epazote, which Nana Hortencia and Ximena us ed for cleansings. He bought the herbs from the old woman and brought the bundle to his nose. For a moment, he was back in Ximena’s arms. He leaned against a wall, the yearning for her so intense his knees weakened, and he could not take another st ep. He buried his face in the herbs, reeling fr om the smell of her. He’d been an utter fool, he knew that now. And he’d probably lost her forever. What if he went in search of her? She was perhaps back in the northern frontier, back on her beloved ranch and too busy restoring it to think about him. He wanted to imagine her happy. Even if he could never forgive himself for losing her, he prayed God would at least grant her some happiness. When Riley finally reached the battalion’s barracks, which were in an abandoned monastery near the Alameda in the outskirts of the city, the Mexican guard handed him a note. “Capitán Riley, this arrived for you while you were gone.” “Who left this here for me?” Riley asked, his heart pounding as he read it. Meet me in the Alameda, X. “¿Quién dejó la carta?” “Una mujer, mi capitán,” the guard said. “No dio su nombre.” He turned on his heel and took off running to the park. It couldn’t be. Had she truly come all this way? After all the suffering he’d put her through, could it be true that she was here and not where he’d imagined her? He hurried down the stone - paved sidew alk, sidest epping the peasant women selling pottery, wooden toys, and corn husk dolls, and the peddlers carrying bundles of colorful sarapes.
He finally gained the Alameda and spotted her sitting in the shade on one of the stone benches by the large water fountain, feeding the pigeons. In the dappled light beneath the poplars, Riley paused for a moment, catching his breath and listening to the f alling waters of the fountain. The sight of Ximena was like a sunbeam penetrating the dark brooding of his heart. He could scarcely trust his eyes to believe she was truly there. That he wasn’t just imagining her. But then, he began worrying, uncertain as to what he should say. Forgive me... He would start with that. As soon as she saw him, she ran to him. He held her aloft and swung her around, his body thrilled at being able to embrace her once more. Then she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, and he responded in complete surrender. He bought her a lemonade from a peddler selling refreshments, and they strolled around the verdant gardens on shady paths lined with flowering shrubs, sharing what had transpired in their lives while they’d been apart. He concluded by telling her about the deserters he’d recruited at the prison that morning. “The Saint Patrick’s Battalion is still strong,” he said. “When the Yanks get here, we’ll be ready for them.” “And our child will be born in a country free of invaders,” she said, putting a hand on her belly. He stared at her, wondering if she was jesting. She hadn’t mentioned a babe, but then, he lowered his gaze and confirmed what she’d just said. Her skirt and petticoat nearly hid the swell of her belly. “I’m sorry, I should not have surprised you like this. I thought — ” She put a hand to her mouth and bit the tender flesh of her knuckles. He gathered her into his arms and felt her body tremble. “Should I not have come, John?” she whispered. “Nay, lass, don’t say that,” he said. “I’ve dreamed of havin’ you back in my arms every night, though I was too much of a coward to seek you out. But just give me a minute to get over my shock, will ya?” He held on to her, afraid to let go, not knowing what to make of this news. A child. They were going to have a child. Would the conflict between Mexico and the United States be over before the birth? He wished to God it was so. He raised her chin so that s he could look at him. “I love you, Ximena, and I love our child. Have no doubt of that. But I loathe the thought of this innocent creature bein’ born in a country ravaged by war, you understand? Don’t I already have another child livin’ in a land scourged by hunger and misery? Is my lot in life to subject my children to such a sorrowful existence?”
She wiped her eyes and took a de ep breath. “Do not think this way, John. The Yanquis haven’t won. Not yet. When we win this war, our child shall be born in a new Mexico. One ready to be the great nation it is destined to be.” He smiled and pulled her against him, trying to share in her fancy for the future. “Aye, and we shall send for my son. And we can be a family. The four of us. Would that be all right, darlin’? He would make a fine brother, my Johnny...” “I can’t wait to meet him,” she said, holding tight to him. He kissed the top of her head and looked up at the cloudless sky. He wanted to believe in the future they envisioned, but hadn’t he learned by now that a windy day was not a day for thatching? The Yankees would soon be marching their way. The upcoming batt le would be the defining moment — the moment that could turn the tide of the war once and for all. He prayed with all his heart that the Mexican eagle would be the victor. August 1847 Mexico City After mass one Sunday, Riley hired a carriage to take them on a ride around the city. With the invasion of the capital looming over them, this period of calm was sure to be brief, and he wished to spend it doing things that they might have done had Ximena’ s country not been at war. The carriage ride was enough for now, but someday, perhaps they could visit the museums or the Botanical Garden, the Shrine of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, the famous Chinampas floating gardens, the pyramids in Teotihuacán. He wr apped his arm around her and held her close to him, enjoying the beautiful trees and lush plants and flowers on either side of the road, the sharp outline of the two volcanoes in the distance rising above the plains of the Valley of Mexico, and the stone a rches of the two aqueducts that bisected the city. As the carriage rumbled past Chapult epec Hill, he looked at the formidable castle on the summit, which was visible through the trees, and at the Mexican flag flying from its ramparts. The castle was home t o the country’s military college, the Mexican West Point, and he wondered if there was still time for him to obtain permission to visit it. As they traversed the Paseo de Bucareli, the driver told them how in times of peace, there were a thousand carriages on the avenue in the evenings, full of people dressed in their finery out for a bit of fresh air and socializing. But the city was about to be under siege, and so even though the day was perfectly brilliant, the Paseo was mostly deserted. The driver pointed to two of the mountains surrounding the city and asked if they wanted to hear the story of their creation, according to the Aztecs. These snow - covered volcanoes dominated the horizon and were named Iztaccíhuatl and Popocatépetl.