“We can say we were much bewildered by liquor to know any better,” Hezekiah Akles said. “I’ve got proof, right here on my forehead.” He touched his forehead where the letters HD had been branded by his commanding officer. Riley nodded, remembering that according to general order, drunkards would be allowed back into their ranks after going absent without official leave. Besides, hadn’t the Yanks just won the battle at Churubusco? Surely they were feeling generous right now. There might be a chance they would forgive the San Patricios if they claimed to be nothing but drunks. Paddy the drunkard, wasn’t that what the Yanks called them? “Hear me,” Riley said. “Let us tell the Yanks a good cock - and - bull story, then. Claim drunkenness when ye stand afore the judge. Say the drop led ye astray. At any rate, they’ve always accused us of bein’ nothin’ but drunken brutes, haven’t they? So tell t hem they spoke truth.” “D’ya really think that will work?” John Bartley asked.
“ ’Tis worth takin’ the chance,” Riley said. “Besides, the Yanks have another battle to fight. ’Twon’t be long afore they have to face the Mexicans again, so they’ve got no time for trials. They need to focus on their strategy to win the war. The trials wi ll be over afore ye know it, eh?” Riley paused and looked at his men. He hoped they believed him. He wanted to believe it himself, but de ep down, he knew the Yanks would show no clemency. Especially not now. He knew Scott would make an example of them in o rder to stop more soldiers from deserting. But what else could he say to his men to give them hope? “If that story fails to convince, claim that ye were spirited away from your ranks by rancheros and were forced to fight with the Mexicans, that they threat ened ye with death if ye didn’t fight for their cause.” He knew that under the Articles of War, their only valid defenses would be drunkenness and coercion. “But they didn’t,” Dalton said. “We made our choice, and now we must abide by it.” Riley nodded. “I know, but ’tis plain our Mexican friends are about to lose this war, and they won’t be able to give us succor when they can’t even help themselves. ’Tis up to us now to defend our cause and save ourselves from the bitter fate that’s upon u s, ye understand?” The men nodded. “If that story fails, then say that ye were beaten until ye had no choice but to give in. Blame it on me, if ye must. Say that it was John Riley of County Galway who forced ye all to fight under his green banner.” “ Níl! ” Dalton said, standing up. “We will do no such thin’.” “If there is blame to be passed around, I will bear my share,” Riley said, hitting his breast with his fist. “ Mea culpa .” “I’ll just say that I was a prisoner of love,” James Mills said. “That my head was unsettled by the love of my Mexican sweetheart, which compelled me to put on the Mexican uniform.” The men chuckled. “Let us pray,” Edward Mc Heran said, putting his hands together in prayer. Knowing they were past the help of men, they bowed their heads in unison to ask for God’s mercy. Even Alexander Mc Kee returned to the group and knelt with the rest, the sound of thei r voices drifting out into the wet night. Throughout the next few days, news reached them in their prison. The trials of the San Patricios held in Tacubaya had begun, and an armistice had been agreed upon, forbidding either country from fortifying their defenses and strengthening their armies. The exchange of prisoners and the wounded would soon be carried out, but Riley knew without a doubt that Santa Anna
wouldn’t be able to negotiate with Scott for their freedom. No, Scott would be sure to make examples of them. Then their own trials began. One by one, the San Patricios imprisoned in San Ángel were sentenced to hang — not death by firing squad as defined by the Articles of War — but to hang at the gallows as if they were lowly spies or rapists. Every single one of the m received the death penalty. None of the claims they had made in their defense had swayed the Yankees. When Patrick Dalton received his sentence, Riley was close to tears. He needed to be strong, for all of them, but after that, he couldn’t look his frien d in the eye. On S eptember 5, Riley was the last of the men to be summoned. As the guard was placing the chains around his hands, Riley observed his men, who were leaning dejectedly against the walls. The guards pushed him out of the warehouse, and even though Riley knew the verdict that awaited him, he still said a silent prayer. “God, have mercy on me. Let me live long enough to see my son once more and my unborn child.” He took a de ep breath and tried to hold himself together as best he could, though the pain in his leg caused him to limp and his forehead broke into a sweat. When they pushed him into the room that had been turned into a courthouse, and Riley faced his jud ges, the wound on his leg opened again, and blood was se eping through his already bloodstained Mexican uniform. Riley could feel the room’s gaze on him. He spotted Duncan sitting in the front row and saw the blatant hatred in his eyes, the same contempt with which Braxton Bragg would have looked at him if he were here. Colonel Bennet Riley was serving as judge. Rile y hated sharing a surname with this man, a child of Irish parents but born and reared in America. A Catholic, but a Yank through and through. Riley knew not to expect any sympathy from the colonel. He knew the colonel would be harder on a true Irishman lik e Riley. Many American - born Irish were like that — turning against their own kind, pretending they had nothing in common with the folk from the ould sod. General Scott knew what he was doing when he appointed Bennet Riley to oversee the trials. On the outsid e, it would seem like the San Patricios were getting a fair trial, presided over by someone of Irish descent, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Sure enough, Colonel Bennet Riley stood and looked him up and down, taking in his major’s dark - blue Mexican uniform, the braided epaulets, the medal of honor, the insignia of his rank. The colonel sneered with contempt and called the trial to order. Riley k ept his face impassive as Captain Ridgely read the accusations against him. “Private John Riley of K Company, Fifth Infantry, you have been accused of deserting service to the United States on the twelfth of April, 1846. You are accused of joining the Mexican ranks
and taking up arms against the United States Army in the battle of Churubusco. How do you plead?” “Not guilty,” Riley r eplied. His voice sounded sure and steady. Murmurs broke out and many in the audience yelled, “Liar!” and “Traitor!” The colonel called the courtroom back to order. Several men were called to testify on Riley’s character, among them his former commander, Captain Merrill. Riley remembered that rainy Sunday morning, the day after Sullivan’s death, when he had made his deci sion to desert. He had thought Captain Merrill would be resentful that it was under his watch that Riley had deserted, but he saw no hatred in the captain’s eyes. If anything, what he saw was respect, maybe even a hint of pity, because he, too, seemed to k now what the verdict would be. “Private John Riley was a man of good character and an excellent soldier,” Captain Merrill said. “I don’t recollect ever having to punish him in any way.” Riley nodded a silent thanks and pr epared to give his own statement. He knew full well that his reasons for deserting mattered naught to them, but he wasn’t going to make it quick and easy for the Yanks to sentence him to death. No, he was going to make th em wait, and he was going to give them a piece of his mind. “On April twelfth, after my tentmate, Franky Sullivan, was murdered in cold blood, I was in need of comfort from the Lord and his Holy Mother, so I asked the good Captain Merrill here to give me permission to attend mass. On the way thither, I was thereupo n taken prisoner by Mexican lancers who dragged me across the Río Grande against my will.” He heard the hisses, saw the shaking of heads. Of course, they didn’t believe a word he was saying, but he continued. “There in the town of Matamoros I was imprisone d, and for nineteen days I lived on nothin’ but bread and water and the good grace of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Finally, General Ampudia came to my prison cell and gave me three choices.” Riley stopped then and looked around the room. “The Mexican general said I could die by facin’ the American firin’ squad or his own firin’ squad, or I could join his army. I, of course, refused to take up arms against the United States, not after I had been treated so kindly and respectfully by my American comrades and superiors. Not after bein’ promised the opportunity to move up in rank. And especially not after bein’ recompensed with a whole seven dollars in wages to send back home every month. So the Mexican general said to think things over. I was k ept prisoner , with my hands tied behind my back all the way to the city of Linares.” He went on and on, describing the ordeal he had suffered. He was actually beginning to enjoy himself, his lies becoming more outlandish. He’d never told a better cock - and - bull story before. He saw the people in the audience squirming, the judges’s faces tu rning redder and redder.
Finally, during a pause in his storytelling, the colonel said, “Are you ready to close your statement, Private?” Riley still wasn’t ready to give them the satisfaction of sentencing him to death and being done with the trial so they could enjoy their dinner. And how dare he call him Private when he knew damn well what his rank was? Riley shook his head and continued with his story. “And so ’twas, that many days later — after much sufferin’ and anguish — I was sentenced to be executed by Ampudia’s firin’ squad, after which, I was to have my head fried in hog’s grease and hung at the public square. But just when I was about to face death itself and put my defeated soul in the hands of the Lord, the other Mexican general, Arista, arrived to halt the execution. He gave me one more chance to take up a rms in defense of Mexico.” Riley heard the audience’s whispers. The words traitor, liar, coward made his blood boil, and so he gave up the performance and brought his statement to a close. “So I was given a choice, and I made it,” he said, his voice louder, his tone serious. “I decided that instead of bein’ sentenced to death and have my head fried, I would rather serve as a commissioned officer in the ranks of the R epublic of Mexico. There, as you can see,” he said, standing proudly and showing off his gilded shoulder straps and medal of honor, “I obtained the rank of major because of my skills and bravery on the field of battle — and because the Mexicans valued me and respected me in a way yo u Goddamned Yankees sonsofbitches never did!” The audience was in an uproar. The colonel called the court to order but no one paid him any heed. He banged his gavel again and again. Riley tried to ke ep his face expressionless, but he couldn’t help himself, and a grin spread across his face. He watched as the judges shouted among themselves. Then Colonel Riley stood, waited until everyone quieted down, and said: “After deliberation, the court finds the prisoner Private John Riley, of Company K, Fifth Infantry, guilty as charged, and does therefore sentence him to be hanged by the neck until he is dead!” S eptember 1847 Mexico City “He is going to hang, hija,” padre Sebastián said, coming to sit beside her on the pew. “They all are.” He had gone out that morning seeking news of John and his men. Every day he’d inquired on Ximena’s behalf because no one would tell her when John would be court - martialed. And now it had finally happened, that very day, and like everyone else, he’d been gi ven the death sentence. She looked at the altar, at la Virgen de Guadalupe, at the shafts of broken sunshine streaming through the church’s stained - glass windows. “Hang? Hanged by the very men who have called
Mexicans barbarians and savages? Who are the savages now? Damn them. Damn them all to hell!” “Lo siento, hija,” padre Sebastián said. “But please, do not blaspheme in front of la Virgen.” Ximena took a de ep breath and composed herself as best she could. No, no, he couldn’t be hanged, not after everything he had gone through, after everything they had sacrificed, fought for. “I won’t let them,” she said. “I won’t let that happen.” She got up and took her leave. “Que tenga buen día, padrecito.” “Pero ¿adónde va, hija?” padre Sebastián called out. She emerged from the Catedral Metropolitana into the bright day and pushed her way through the throng. Where could she go? Santa Anna was once again in the midst of political turmoil. Due to the armistice he had agreed to with the Yanquis, he’d been accuse d of being a traitor, not only by the people but also by government officials, including the governor of the state of Mexico. Although the armies had exchanged prisoners, Santa Anna didn’t have Yanqui prisoners of high enough rank to exchange for his own officers, let alone John. Scott wouldn’t give him up, even if Santa Anna had had a Yanqui major in his possession. Who could save John and the other San Patricios from that horrible fate?