“I am sorry about the fate that has befallen Major Riley and his men,” General Ampudia said. “Don’t worry, señora Riley,” General Bravo said. “It should be a consolation for you to know that our commander will make sure we get the San Patricios back.” “Thank you, sirs. Thank you for your words of encouragement.” She turned to Santa Anna and said, “May I speak with you in private, sir?” “Of course, of course, my dear. Come, have a seat.” The men excused themselves and closed the door behind them. Santa Anna served himself another glass of brandy and offered her one as well. She shook her head no. She was thirsty, and she wished she could ask for a glass of water, but she was tired of prete nding. She had come here to talk about John’s fate, not to waste time with formalities. The general was quiet. He made his way to his desk, set his cane aside, and then sat down. The smile and the pretense were all gone now, r eplaced by a frown. “You’ve come to say ‘I told you so’?” “No.” “Good. Because I am in no mood for your r eproaches and bitter recriminations. I will take responsibility for the fate of my most loyal officer, and I can assure you that I will do my best to get him back. I promise you that.” She nodded, not knowing what to say. She wouldn’t believe it until she saw it, until John was back home with her, when she could hold him in her arms again.
“If I had a hundred men like Juan Riley, we would have won this war by now,” he said, finishing the brandy in his glass. “What happened? How did they get captured?” He looked at her, and she could see that he was debating whether or not to answer her question. He sighed, pushed his empty glass away, and said, “If my damn officers had obeyed orders, this wouldn’t have happened! You have General Valencia and his blind a mbition to thank for the outcome of this battle. The insubordinate imbecile!” Perhaps it was the alcohol that was getting to him, loosening his tongue, but he reclined in his seat and told her more than she had expected. She sat quietly and listened as he described the battle, how, hungry for glory, General Valencia had disobeyed hi s orders and left his assigned position, deciding to confront the enemy alone. When Santa Anna ordered him to withdraw to the village of San Ángel and join forces with him, Valencia had decided to stand his ground, not expecting the Yanquis to pull off a s urprise assault on his camp and wipe out his division. “I watched it happen through my field glasses,” Santa Anna said. “I was there with my troops, a mere two thousand meters away. I could hear the screams of his troops being cut to pieces. The blasts of the cannons. I saw everything. I could have gone to his rescue. And I should have. But instead, I ordered my men to withdraw. In seventeen minutes, the fool Valencia was defeated. I meant to teach that imbecile a lesson for disobeying my orders. Who does he think he is? There is only one commander - in - chief of this army!” Ximena remained silent, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had previously tried to piece together the details of the battle as she remembered them. She remembered seeing the Mexican troops on the run, being chased by the Yanquis. Then Riley and th e San Patricios fought for hours until their ammunition ran out, and she saw the enemy breaching the convento. She remembered running down the corridor, hearing the awful fighting going on throughout the convento, and there was John, running toward her, un til he stopped and turned around and ran back into the fray. She remembered begging the Yanquis to let her tend to the San Patricios and her compatriots out in the courtyard, but they refused to let her near them. She had watched from the window when they lined up John and his men and took them away. That was the last time she had seen him. After she and the rest of the Mexican hospital attendants were released, they had made their way back to the city with their wounded. Judging by the number of wagons bringing the men back to the city, even before the official numbers were released, she kne w they had sustained heavy losses. She heard that at least a third of the twenty thousand soldiers in the Mexican ranks were killed, injured, or captured, and those who remained were demoralized. In addition to the San
Patricios, over a thousand soldiers and about a hundred officers had been taken prisoner, including Generals Rincón and Anaya, and most of the ammunition and artillery pieces were lost to the Yanquis. “You wanted to teach General Valencia a lesson for insubordination,” she said. “So you abandoned him and his men to their fate. But you didn’t think about the price to be paid once they were on the run, and how the criminal abandonment of your general and his troops would affect the rest of your army. Was it worth losing the battle?” “It was Valencia’s error, not mine. If it weren’t for his imbecility, those perfidious Yanquis would now be buried in the Valle de México!” “What will you do now, General?” “I’m negotiating a truce with General Scott to buy me some time — ” “And, meanwhile, John and his men have been marched to two s eparate villages to be imprisoned while they await trial. And you know what the outcome of that trial will be.” “Once the armistice is duly ratified, we will exchange prisoners, and of course, I shall do everything in my power to get your husband back.” He stood up and came to stand behind where she sat, caressing her neck with his cold fingers. His touch made her c ringe. “Ximena, the war isn’t over yet. Have faith in me. I will save Mexico from the Yanquis and prevent her dishonor. I will save Juan Riley and the San Patricios. I shall bring peace to our country. I am the Liberator, am I not?” “If you say so.” She stood to take her leave, not waiting for him to walk her to the door. “Thank you for seeing me, your Excellency. I won’t take any more of your time.” Once outside, she finally let the tears come, and before long her body began shaking with rage. Poor Mexico. To be in the hands of vainglorious caudillos who allowed their wounded pride to control them. Corrupt men who cared only about their r eputations, w hose souls were darkened by their twisted desire for wealth and power and glory. They were like Santa Anna’s gamecock who was drowned by his own reflection — intent on taking themselves, and all of Mexico, to their doom. What kind of future could her country have when ruled by men like that? And what would become of John and the San Patricios? S eptember 1847 San Ángel, Outskirts of Mexico City They imprisoned Riley and twenty - eight of his men in a dank warehouse that smelled of sewage and rot. As soon as the door closed, he gathered his men around him, Dalton by his side.
“Come now, my boys, this isn’t over yet!” Riley said. “There ought to be a way out of our present calamity. Let us not despair.” “They’re going to kill us, kill us all,” James Mills said. “No, Major Riley is right,” Dalton said. “Have faith men, have faith.” “Faith in whom, him?” Alexander Mc Kee said, pointing at Riley. “Isn’t it he who got us into this sad scrape?” He looked at Riley and spat. “ Go h Ifreann lea t! ” He struggled to his feet and made his way across the room. “Listen now, Mc Kee, I will not tolerate — ” Dalton said. Riley put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let him be. He’s right.” “We can tell them the truth,” John Bowers said. “Those sonsabitches treated us worse than animals. After all the great indignities we suffered, they left us no choice but to desert.” “The infidels mocked our religion and didn’t allow us to worship our Creator in our own manner,” Edward Mc Heran said. “Heavens know ’twas reason enough for us to do what we did.” “They won’t give ear to that,” Riley said. “Especially our religion. They’ll throw the Articles of War in our faces.” “We can say that their laws don’t apply to us Irish,” Thomas Riley said. “And you Germans, and you Scots,” he said as he glanced around the room.