“You were hanging from the gallows. Patrick, Auguste, Thomas, Francis, and so many of the others. And you, John, you!” “This might be one of those dreams that prove false, my love,” he said reassuringly, “or you would have dreamed us facin’ the firin’ squad. Be that as it may, I promise to be careful. The blessed Saint Patrick will watch over us.” She kissed him savagely, hungrily, with a passion so fierce, so demanding, she scared herself. She pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him. She held on to him, just as the
dawn was breaking, just as the day — their wedding day — was beginning. They would have only one day as a married man and woman. One day before he was gone. “Is this a wedding or a funeral?” Santa Anna asked when he came to escort her to the barracks chapel, which had previously been part of the abandoned monastery. Ximena was startled by his voice. Being so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard his uneven fo otst eps approaching or his knocking at the door of her chamber. Now he stood before her, magnificently dressed as usual. Upon hearing the news of the wedding, he’d insisted on walking her down the aisle, and she couldn’t refuse him. But now that he was here, grinning at her, she wished he hadn’t come at all. He was to blame for what was about to happen. With a flourish, he presented her with a velvet box from his pocket and said, “A wedding gift for you, querida Ximena.” He opened the lid, and she leaned closer to look. He turned slightly so that the sunlight streaming through the window would fall direct ly on the brooch nestled within. Her breath caught in her throat — the Mexican coat of arms sparkling in all its glory, the serpent inlaid with tiny rubies, the cactus inlaid with emeralds, the golden eagle of smoky quartz, its eye a perfect yellow topaz. “I can’t acc ept this gift,” she said. “Thank you but — ” “But nothing,” he said, taking it out of its box and pinning it on her creamcolored mantilla, a simple wedding gift from John, but one that she would treasure more than any jewel. She was afraid to look at it. Never had she received such an extravagant gift. She wanted to hate it, but as she glanced at it, the golden eagle resting against her bosom, it gave her an immense pride to be wearing the Mexican crest. But then, upon seeing his satisfied smile, she remembered her anger, her fear. She walked over to the window to put some space between them. “You must order John to not go to battle with you.” His grin was immediately r eplaced with a scowl. “¿Perdón?” “It won’t end well for him and his battalion. Assign them to sentry duty. Have them guard the Catedral Metropolitana, or the Palacio Nacional, or your own private residence, or your favorite brothel, I don’t care! Just don’t take him with you.” He limped to where she stood by the window and took her hands in his. “It’s your wedding day, and I’m sure you’re nervous and getting the jitters, so I shall forgive your strange behavior. But I must confess, this is not like you. Not like you at all.”
“It’s not jitters!” she snapped. “Por el amor de la Santísima Virgen, General, you need to believe me. Something is going to happen to the San Patricios. They will be hanged at the gallows unless you put them out of harm’s way, as far away from the Yanquis as possible.” “I cannot do what you ask. General Scott is marching to this city as we speak, and I need Juan Riley, and I need his men. I understand he will be your husband now, and no wife wants to see her husband go off to battle, but my lady, if you cannot handle it, may I suggest that you not marry a soldier?” “I will hold you responsible if anything happens to my husband,” she said, and then, unable to stop herself, she burst into tears. He held her in his arms and whispered words of comfort to her, and though she knew they were lies, she listened to them. His voice was kind, gentle even. He spoke to her with the same tenderness as he did his precious gamecocks. He sighed and took out his handkerchief to wipe her face. “Basta. Stop crying now,” he said, changing his voice, the sweetness gone. “You don’t want to get married with tear - stained eyes, do you? Now come, I will deliver you to your betrothed and after the ceremony ends, I shall take my leave. The battle is nearly upon us.” She put her arm through his, and he guided her out of the room. Ximena and John had chosen to have an intimate wedding in the small chapel at the barracks, and though its walls were crumbling, its pews falling apart, she didn’t care. The San Patricios got to their feet as she and Santa Anna entered. She avoided looking at them, trying not to think about her dream, about the nooses around their necks. She simply forced herself to smile and ke ep her eyes facing forward. John was up front with padre Sebastián and Patrick Dalton. He smiled as he watched her walk toward him. He stood proudly before her wearing his new uniform, the dark blue of a man of his rank, a major in the Mexican Army. If truth be told, she would have rather seen him dressed in regular clothes, at least for today, their wedding day. She would rather not think about the war and the fact that at this very moment General Scott and his army were heading down the National Highway to the Valle de México and soon the battle would ensue. “Mayor Juan Riley, aquí está su amada,” Santa Anna said. John saluted his commander and then took Ximena’s hands in his. As padre Sebastián began the ceremony, they both knelt on pillows. They k ept their heads bowed as the priest united them by wrapping a white silk cord from Ximena to John. The soft Latin prayers of padre Sebastián echoed against the old stone walls. Finally, it was time for their vows and they rose to their feet. “Señor Juan Riley, ¿ac epta a Ximena Salomé Benítez y Catalán, aquí presente, como su esposa, según el rito de la santa madre Iglesia?” padre Sebastián said.
John looked at her and smiled. “Sí. Ac epto.” The priest turned to her and said, “Ximena Salomé Benítez y Catalán, ¿ac epta a Juan Riley, aquí presente, como su esposo, según el rito de la santa madre Iglesia?” Just then, a cannon from the ramparts of the citadel boomed, shaking the fragile walls of the chapel. Ximena looked at John, at Santa Anna. The San Patricios stirred in the pews, whispering among themselves. John clutched her hand and didn’t let go, but th ey both knew what that sound meant. The Yanquis had reached the valley. They were a mere twenty - five miles away. She could hear the drums summoning men to their posts, the bugles sounding the alarm. Why couldn’t they have today, at least today, to enjoy their wedding? Padre Sebastián looked at her tenderly and asked if she wished to continue. She looked at John. “Lass, do you desire to stop? D’ya not wish to go on?” he whispered into her ear. “I would understand if you’ve changed your mind.” Yet his eyes were pleading for her to not give up on him. Not now when he was about to put his fate in God’s hands once agai n. She thought about her dream of the San Patricios hanging lifeless from the gallows and turned to look at Patrick Dalton, the best man, standing by John’s side, watching her with puzzlement. She looked at the men on the pews — Lachlin Mc Laghlin, Elizier Lu sk, John Appleby, John Benedick, and that big lovable bear of a man, Kerr Delaney. Was their fate sealed? Was there anything that could be done to change it? Padre Sebastián coughed, bringing her back to the chapel, to her betrothed looking beseechingly at her. She couldn’t let her dream ruin their wedding day. When the priest r epeated the question, this time she didn’t hesitate. “Sí, ac epto,” she said softly. John sighed in relief and bent toward her. As she felt his lips upon her own, her lips parted, and she kissed him de eply. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. No, they didn’t have much time left, but she would make sure the hours that remain ed were the best hours they could have together. The next morning, she watched Riley and his men gather at the Plaza de la Constitución as Santa Anna’s army pr epared to march out and confront the enemy. Ximena stood among the thousands of city residents who had come to bid them farewell. Her eyes scanned the troops and spotted her husband upon his horse at the head of the columns. Her eyes lingered on the faces of the foreign soldiers clad in their blue uniforms and red tasseled caps. She could feel John’s eyes looking at her from beneath the visor of his shako. She wished to shout out to him, to tell him that she loved him, no matter what, to beg him not to go. But she knew he wouldn’t hear her above the patriotic music meant to give courage
to the men as they headed to battle, and so she only returned his gaze in silence and tried to be strong, for him, for his men. As John and Patrick Dalton rode alongside the other officers, the troops marched out of the plaza and the crowd shouted, “¡Vivan los San Patricios!” The distance between them grew bigger and bigger, and she could no longer see him, but she could still see his pride and joy flapping in the morning breeze above the columns — the green banner of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. She turned and pushed her way through the throng. In her hand she carried a handwritten letter John had composed the night before. She’d watched him sitting by candlelight, trying to find the right words as he put ink to paper, and she sat nude under the s heets, her lips throbbing, her body ravaged by their insatiable lovemaking, her mind struggling to speak no more of her visions, of what she knew to be true. John had bid her to take this letter to the printer’s that day and have the pamphlets delivered into the hands of General Scott’s foreign soldiers. To My Friends and Countrymen in the Army of the United States of America , the letter began. She hurried out of the plaza and read it once again before taking it to the printer. The President of this R epublic once more offers to you his hand & invites you, in the name of the religion you profess, the various countries in which you first drew the breath of existence, of honor and of patriotism, to withhold your hands from the slaug hter of a nation whose thoughts or deeds never injured you or yours. My countrymen, Irishmen! I call upon you for I know your feelings on this subject well, for the sake of that chivalry for which you are celebrated, for that love of liberty for which our common country is so long contending, for the sake of that holy relig ion which we have for ages professed, I conjure you to abandon a slavish hireling’s life with a nation who in even the moment of victory treats you with contumely & disgrace. My countrymen, I have experienced the hospitality of the citizens of this R epublic; from the moment I extended them the hand of friendship, I was received with kindness; though poor, I was relieved; though undeserving, I was respected, and I pledge you my oath, that the same feelings extended toward me await you also. August 1847 Churubusco, outskirts of Mexico City They marched ten miles across the National Highway to confront Scott’s army as it approached from Puebla in the east. Santa Anna distributed his forces to block Scott’s path, focusing the bulk of his troops on strengthening the main position at El Peñón, a fortified hill that commanded the road to Mexico City. But when his scouts alerted him that Scott had chosen to
avoid the National Highway and had taken a circuitous southern route, Santa Anna quickly set up a new line of defense south of the city and positioned his three units around the villages of Churubusco, San Ángel, and Coyoacán, all of which were situated ar ound an impassable, desolate field of volcanic rock known as El Pedregal. Each unit was strategically placed within five miles of each other for quick reinforcement. Along with the Bravos and Ind ependence Batallions, Riley and his men were positioned at an old Franciscan monastery in the village of Churubusco eight miles southeast of Mexico City. Under the command of Generals Rincón and Anaya, the Saint Patrick’s Battalion and more than a thousand Mexican soldiers were to defend it. Rincón divided up the tr oops, placing some on the heights of the monastery and its right flank and the San Patricios and the Bravos Batallion up on the parapets of the front and left flank of the monastery. After scanning the area, Riley and Patrick Dalton gave orders to the men to position the seven cannons on the parapets. It was a good place to make a stand. The monastery had walls four feet thick and twelve feet high made of solid stone, as were the parap ets on the roof. The Río Churubusco ran alongside the monastery, and the bridge across it was well fortified and guarded by three Mexican regiments. From the parapets Riley had a good view of the cornfields surrounding the monastery and the two roads leading to it, so they’d be able to see the Yanks coming.