Colonel Harney counted out the men. Eight would be facing the muleteers’ whips, just like John had. The other thirty would be hanged. “There are twentynine here!” Colonel Harney said as he finished counting the men at the gallows. “Where is the thirtieth?” “Francis O’Conner is on his deathbed, Colonel. He lost both legs at Churubusco,” one of the officers said. “My orders are to hang thirty and by God, I’ll do it. Bring him out, now!” Colonel Harney said.
“Aren’t we enough for you, Colonel?” Kerr Delaney said. “You want to see the poor mutilated creature dancin’ a pretty jig for ya, is it? You sick scoundrel.” “Your country has a crow to pluck with us, true enough, but there’s no need to subject the poor little fella to this manner of torture, Colonel. Let him be,” another San Patricio said. Despite the protests, two Yanqui officers returned carrying Francis O’Conner on a litter. He was unconscious, for which Ximena was thankful. With his missing legs, he was the height of a small child. In horror, she watched as they placed him on a wagon and then lowered the noose around his neck after they lengthened the rope. “Our Lord have mercy,” padre Sebastián said as he placed a hand on Ximena. She reached to support the old priest. Feeling weak herself, her heart began to beat rapidly, making her dizzy, but she needed to be strong. “And they say we are the barbarians, padre,” she said. Amid the protests of the San Patricios and the Mexicans who had come out to watch the execution, Colonel Harney read General Order 283. “And now we wait,” he said as he finished. “When our beloved flag unfurls in the wind, I will swing you all into eternit y.” “I can’t bear this, padrecito,” Ximena said. “Be strong, hija mía. Now more than ever, we all need to seek strength from our Lord.” The morning mist dissipated, and the sun beat down on them. She could hear the blasting of cannons and the staccato of muskets in the distance. The wind carried the screams of the dying, and Ximena felt a pang of guilt as she remembered that her place should be at the field hospital, tending to the injured. But how could she not be here as well? “The castle won’t fall,” she told padre Sebastián. They peered through the smoke of the cannons as the battle raged on. Chapult epec Castle was supposed to be an impregnable fortress, but as she witnessed the Yankee bombs exploding on its roof, she realized that its soundness had been an illusion. The priest patted her hand and said nothing. She could tell he was getting tired. Over an hour now they had stood, waiting for the fighting to cease. She had offered to lead him to some shade under a tree, but padre Sebastián had stayed put near the gallow s. He would be administering the last rites, and his presence, along with those of the other priests in attendance, offered much comfort to the doomed men.
Another hour passed, and Ximena didn’t know how much longer she could bear it. But the San Patricios were still standing at the gallows with the sun beating hard on them. They had been given no water. Flies and mosquitos pestered them, and they could do no thing about it. Eventually, the outcome of the battle became clear. Mexican soldiers were es caping through the smoke, the Yanquis in pursuit. Even from where she stood, Ximena could see that it wouldn’t be long before the castle fell. The Yanquis were scaling the walls wi th ladders, and soon, even the castle gates were breached. “Padre, the cadets!” Ximena yelled, thinking about the boys in the military college, some as young as thirteen. “Will they be killed?” Padre Sebastián looked at her and said nothing, but clearly he was also worried about the children inside the castle walls. What if the Yanquis showed them no mercy? “It is time, hija,” he said with a sigh. He left her side and walked down to join the other priests. They approached the men at the gallows and began to administer the last rites. “Wait, not yet — ” Ximena said. But then she looked toward the castle and as the dense cloud of smoke cleared, she knew that the priest was right. It was time. Above Chapult epec Castle, the Mexican flag no longer flew. Instead, she caught a flash of red, whi te, and blue flapping on the highest tower. Her breath caught in her throat, and her knees gave way. Now that Chapult epec Castle was lost, the invaders were that much closer to taking the city. As she collapsed to the ground, the Yanquis around her, especially Colonel Harney, burst out in cheers. When the colonel approached the San Patricios, she scrambled to her feet. “Wait!” she said. “Please, have mercy!” One of the Yanquis caught her and pulled her back. She k ept on screaming. The San Patricios smiled at her and shouted a last farewell. Kerr Delaney said, “Take care of yourself, lassie. May God finally grant you some happiness.” “Long live John Riley!” they cheered with their last breaths. “ Erin Go Bragh! ” And then, at Colonel Harney’s orders, the wagons moved forward, and the San Patricios hung in midair, jerking in a macabre dance. Ximena did not look away, not until the very last man came to rest. He came to her that evening. Disguised as a street peddler, rain dripping from his sarape, he walked into the little house she’d moved into when she could no longer bear to be in the
barracks without John. He hung his sarape on a hook by the door and then looked at her. His hair was disheveled, his face haggard. She had been praying at her altar, and before she got off her knees to see what he wanted, he stopped her. “No se levante.” He limped to her side and removed his wooden leg, using it for support as he bent down to pray with her. He groaned at the pain but knelt on the floor alongside her, lowering his head as his voice joined hers in prayer. When their throats eventually grew hoarse and dry, she helped him get up. He sat on the chair while she tended to his leg. It was inflamed, and the wound had opened again. She washed it clean. He sighed in relief as she applied her árnica mexicana salve, m assaging it into his skin. “Why have you come?” she asked as she finished dressing his wound. “To take you with me,” he said. “I d epart at midnight. My council of war has decided to vacate the city. I’m withdrawing my troops to Guadalupe Hidalgo.” “You’re abandoning us? You’re allowing the Yanquis to take possession of the capital?” “For now. Until I r eplenish my troops. Until I figure out a new strategy to restore our country’s liberty and honor.” “You’ve lost. There is no strategy that will change that. You have been defeated.” He hung his head and fixed his gaze upon the floor. And then, very quietly at first, he began to cry. As his sobs grew louder, she looked away, not wanting to witness the president of the R epública Mexicana bawling like a spring calf s eparated from its mot her. She wouldn’t comfort him nor join her sorrow to his. Instead, she grabbed the bottle of mezcal she used for healing and poured him and herself a shot. “Was it true?” she asked as she handed the drink to him. He took the mezcal and downed it, then held out the earthen cup for another. When he asked for a third shot, she refused. He looked at her and nodded, finally admitting what she had always known in her heart. “All this time, the rumors were true?” She served herself another shot and sat down. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes dry. “While I was in Cuba, living in exile, I dispatched my friend, Colonel Alejandro Atocha, to pay President Polk a visit and bargain with him on my behalf.”
In exchange for thirty million dollars, Santa Anna had promised to give Polk the territory he wanted. But he insisted that Polk attack Mexico first so that it looked as if it was by force. It was crucial for the Mexican people to believe that their governm ent had no other choice but to negotiate with the Yanquis. “I was the one who told Polk how to attack us,” he said. “I told him that the Mexican people would never yield unless forced to do so. I provided him with the plan of attack — to send his forces to our northern frontier, to send a naval expedition to Vera Cr uz and take advantage of our scarcity of ships to guard the coast. I promised him that if he helped me return from exile and establish myself firmly in power, I would convince our government to make peace with the United States and give him what he asked f or, the Río Bravo boundary, Alta California, Nuevo México — ” “This was your plan all along then, to sell us out? You were defeated on purpose? You sacrificed John and the San Patricios...” “No!” He grabbed her hands, and when she tried to pull them away, he squeezed them harder, pleading. “Listen to me, Ximena. I lied to the Yanqui president. I never intended to despoil our country. I just wanted him to help me return from exile. My country needed me to save them, to have faith in me again. You understand? The minute I returned, I placed myself at the head of our army and spent every waking breath trying to restore Mexico’s honor. I betrayed my agreement with Polk. Don’t you see?” he said, kissing h er hands. He laughed smugly and said, “I fooled him! The land - grabbing Yanqui believed me and restored me to power, whereupon I dedicated myself to make him understand that I would never consent to despoil Mexico of her northern territories. Ximena, querid a, trust me when I say that I didn’t take my troops — I didn’t take Riley and his men — into the battlefield to lose. I meant to win. I meant to bring victory to Mexico. I meant to give us all a little taste of glory.” She yanked her hands away and shook her head in disbelief. “You handed our country over to the Yanquis. From the very beginning, you betrayed your people, your homeland. I watched the San Patricios hang in the gallows because they fought for you. I watched my husband flogged and his face defiled for defending a country not his own. So many soldiers lost their lives in this war. Even the cadets in Chapult epec Castle died defending it. General Bravo lost his life. Their blood is on your hands. The blood of th e San Patricios is on your hands. You’re a murderer! ¡Un vend epatrias!” She slapped him once, twice, but the third time he caught her hands by the wrists. “¡Basta! I am no murderer. And how dare you accuse me of selling out Mexico? I have suffered privations, insults, and calumny! I’ve risked my life to defend this ungrateful country. It is the people and their lack of patriotism you ought to blame. Where were they today? Where was their pride?
The Yanquis were attacking their city and they simply watched with apathy. Only my soldiers and I fought while the masses stood by and did nothing.” He grabbed his wooden leg from the table and struggled to put it back on. “They have no weapons, what could they have done? Pelt the Yanquis with stones?” “¡Sí! Hurling stones would have been better than just standing by. A lack of weapons has never stopped them before. When they rise in re volt against their own government — against me — weapons or not, they still put up a fight. Look what they did to my limb! Where was their outrage today when the Yanquis stormed the castle, when they seized the city gates? Where was their outrage when the Yanquis flogged your husband, when they hanged h is men, our Irish heroes? If the Yanquis had fought the people as well as my soldiers, they would have been annihilated.” He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Then he stood to leave. “Hágame caso, Ximena. It is in your best interest to come with me. I de eply lament saying this but it is true — Juan Riley belongs to the Yanquis now. There is no saying when he will be released — if he will be released. Scott won’t exchange the San Patricios, you know that. He needs to make an example of them, especially of Juan Riley.” He limped toward her and took her hand, his voice gentler now, shifting into a sweet, seductive tone. She hated how he could do that, the capricious mood swings, the change in the tenor of his voice. “Let me take care of you, querida. I will be good to you. To your child. Se lo prometo.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. When she didn’t respond, he pressed her against him and tried to pry her mouth open with his tongue. She stood there li ke a statue, giving him nothing, not even this kiss he’d always asked for. “You have violated the sacred soul of Mexico,” she said when at last he gave up. “Adiós, Antonio.” She handed him his sarape, and he draped it over himself and left. She knew this would be the last time they would ever see each other. The next day the city was abuzz with the news that Santa Anna had broken his promise to the people to defend the capital to the bitter end and instead had fled, taking with him his remaining troops. Coming out of the Catedral Metropolitana, Ximena watched as General Scott marched into the city to take possession of the Palacio Nacional. She couldn’t bear the sight of the invaders. Sitting atop a magnificent horse and surrounded by his escorts, Scott made his way past the citizens, who watched his entrance into the palace in horror. On the eve of Mexican Ind ependence Day, the flag of stars and stripes unfurled in the wind in full view of the city, to the sorrow of the Mexican people. Ximena remembered the first time
she saw that flag at the Yanqui encampment across from Matamoros. Who would have imagined then that from Matamoros, it would go on to fly over other Mexican cities until it ended up here, piercing the heart of Mexico? The following night, “El Grito” should have been reenacted in the Plaza de la Constitución, the heroes who had given their lives for Mexican Ind ependence honored and remembered. Ximena thought of how a year earlier, she’d been celebrating the ind ependence of her country with John and Jimmy Maloney in Monterrey. Now, Jimmy was dead and so were many of the San Patricios. John was in prison, and Santa Anna had abandoned the city that he claimed to love. She was alone, about to bring forth a child into this uns table world. Watching the Yanqui colors floating over the Palacio Nacional, she knew that the demoralization of the Mexican soul was complete. Something snapped inside her at the same moment that a change happened in the crowd. Perhaps it was seeing the enemy’s flag flying over the palace that woke the people from their culpable apathy. They realized that with Santa Anna’s army and the government officials gone, no one was coming to defend them. Perhaps it was the realization that instead of celebrating their country’s ind ependence, they were watching Mexico return to its days of conquest, back in the hands of invaders. Even stones would have been better than nothing , Santa Anna had said. Ximena picked up the stone by her shoe and hurled it at the Yanqui soldiers marching by. Others did the same, raising the cry for war, raining stones and bricks upon the invaders. A stormy riot broke out. The people — even the beggars, the l epers, and the peddlers — weaponless but full of indignation and hungry for revenge, fought with whatever they could, yelling “¡Muerte a los Yanquis! ¡Muerte a Santa Anna!” Then others joined in and, from the rooftops and windows of the nearby building s, they discharged their escopetas upon the enemy. The Yanquis fell into ranks, loaded and fired their cannons upon the multitude. The crowds ran for cover, and Ximena barely k ept herself from being trampled by the fleeing masses. Clutching her protruding stomach, she reached the doors of the Catedral Metropolitana just as another cannon blast exploded outside. October 1847 Mexico City With Santa Anna gone, John’s fate was even more uncertain. The commanderin - chief had made promises to the San Patricios, promises that would no longer be honored, not now and perhaps not in the future. Ximena k ept herself apprised of Santa Anna’s movements . After a few skirmishes with the Yanquis from his base in Guadalupe Hidalgo, he resigned the presidency and unsuccessfully attempted to besiege the Yanqui garrison in Puebla and retake the city. He failed.
The new Mexican president, Peña y Peña, asked him to turn over what was left of his troops and retire to await a court - martial. Terminating his futile harassment of the Yanqui forces, Santa Anna issued several proclamations, and everyone, including Ximena, paid no heed to his words. Mexicans! I am a man, and I have defects, but never have I sinned against my own country; never has my breast harbored anti - national sentiments. To leave a good name behind me has been the aim of my ambition. I have earnestly longed for everything which is great and glorious for Mexico, and to obtain it I have not spared my own blood. You know this, and you will do me justice. His words had no weight to them, and his cry for vengeance was carried away by the wind. Facts were facts. Deliberately or not, he had allowed the Yanquis to occupy Mexico City. With the Mexican Army now decimated, the enemy claimed victory. The bloody re volts of the Mexican people spread from building to building, street to street, plaza to plaza. The Yanquis suppressed the insurrection through force, breaking into homes, slaughtering and scattering dead bodies through the streets, until the noises of musket and cannon came to an end. General Scott published penal orders, threatening anyone who took up arms against his soldiers with severe punishment, ordering his soldiers to shoot any Mexican carrying arms in the streets. X imena was disgusted when she realized that only the poor had rebelled against the invaders, while the “distinguished” citizens of the city had stood by, offering no support to the resistance, instead protecting their own wealth. Some even obtained position s of power from the Yanquis. White flags of truce hung from their balconies, as did the flags of the foreigners living in the city who wished to prevent the Yanquis from confusing them with common Mexicans.