After a couple of weeks of searching out possible targets for the first serious attack across the Rio Grande, Lieutenant Roberto Gonzales and Sergeant Humberto Sanchez reached the town of Sumter Landing, Texas.
It was a riverfront community served by the small steamboat Viajero that carried freight between it and the shared wharfs of Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua and El Paso, Texas. Those two towns faced each other across the Rio Grande and were partners in trade. From Sumter Landing the cargo was transported northeast by mule train to the railhead in Casa Grande, Texas. From that point it was shipped north to various markets. All in all, it was a lucrative commercial enterprise.
As the two spies rode into Sumter Landing, they gave the place a quick but careful scrutiny. “This appears to be a worthwhile objective for a serious raid,” Sanchez remarked. “Any destruction would seriously disrupt the economy in this part of Texas.”
“I agree,” Gonzales replied. “It would seem the dock area would be the most vital target.”
Sanchez grinned. “Muy bien, mi teniente! Shall we go see?”
The pair rode through an outlying shantytown, heading directly toward the riverfront. Gonzales pointed to some large homes north of the hovels. “There is where the rich Gringos live. They are the owners and operators of the steamboat and mule trains.”
“Of course. And I am sure they also operate a system of warehouses. Perhaps stores too.”
Gonzales nodded. “I think the destruction of the dock would be most beneficial for the war against the United States.”
The two Mexicans continued through the shantytown and rode down to the dock. The steamship was not in sight, but handcarts and dollies were ready for unloading the vessel after its arrival. A large open-faced warehouse, showing plenty of empty space for incoming shipments, took up some fifty yards of the riverfront. A combination cantina and café was located on the east side of the building for the convenience of dockworkers. It was obviously not a luxurious bistro.
Gonzales and Sanchez hitched their horses to the rail outside and entered the establishment. A crude bar made of used lumber dominated one side of the room while a dozen tables were crowded together across the rest of the area. The only person in the place was a fat Hispanic bartender. He looked at the poorly dressed visitors with scorn. “Si?”
“Tequila,” Gonzales replied.
The man scowled. “Tienen dinero?”
“Of course we have money,” Gonzales said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a ten-centavo coin and laid it on the bar.
The bartender’s scowl turned into a smile. He set out a couple of glasses and poured shots of the fiery liquor. Next, the man placed two bowls—one filled with salt and the other with slices of lemons—in front of the two.
Gonzales and Sanchez each licked their hands between thumb and forefinger, then sprinkled salt on the spot. They licked the salt, downed the shots, then took a piece of lemon, squeezing the juice past their lips.
The bartender regretted his discourteous behavior. He poured them two more shots. “On the house, señores.”
They repeated the process after expressing thanks.
“What brings you fellows to Sumter Landing?” the bartender asked. “Are you looking for work? If so, the steamer is due in this afternoon. There are always temporary jobs to help with the unloading.”
Gonzales and Sanchez exchanged glances. The lieutenant said, “That is a fine idea. We can use the money.”
“They pay in dollars or pesos,” the bartender informed them. “Whichever you prefer. After you finish you can come back here for a good meal.” He leered at them. “That is also when our putas work. All three are beautiful and will satisfy you in any way you desire.”
“Perhaps we will come back,” Gonzales said with a wink.
The pair went over to the warehouse to apply for work. The foreman liked their rugged strong appearances. “The steamer arrives early this afternoon,” he told them. “Stick around and you can help with the unloading chores.”
When the steamer docked at two p.m., the spies joined the work gang and began the muscle-cramping work of carrying boxes and bales off the vessel to set them on the dock. They took careful notice of the warehouse layout and what freight went to which part. The load consisted of the U.S. Mail, lumber for treeless areas of west Texas, tools, clothing and other merchandise. There was also a large amount of kerosene. There was a permanent demand for this latter product from domestic, commercial and even military customers.
The chore lasted three hours, for which Gonzales and Sanchez were paid fifty cents each. They ignored the bartender’s offer of food and whores, leaving the town after being paid off. The pair rode east down the river to camp for the night. The next day they would report back to Colonel Valenzuela to recommend an attack on Sumter Landing.
~*~
Darkness had settled over San Patricio. However, several bonfires were burning on the plaza to provide light for the people gathered in front of Tomas Orayly’s office. The dozen vengadores were standing directly in front of the door of the building while the village population assembled behind them.
Minister Tim Harrigan stood on a box at the front of the assemblage. Comandante Jager, Sub-Comandante Gomez and Colonel Valenzuela were off to one side. Fidel, the servant and bodyguard, stood ready to protect his master instantly if a threat arose.
“I stand before you in happiness as well as sadness,” Harrigan began in his Irish-accented Spanish. “I am happy that the preparations to begin the war against the Gringos have begun in a grand manner. But I am sad because I must take leave of you and return to Mexico City. I must tend to my government obligations in the capital.”
There were some murmurs of regret from the crowd who had developed a shared liking for the loveable old Irishman.
He continued, looking at the vengadores. “I want you to fight hard. All of you are aware that I was at the cruel execution of your fathers and grandfathers on that terrible day in Chapultepec. I wept as I saw how brave they were in those terrible last moments of their lives. I know they look down on you now from their place in heaven and smile in gratitude and pride. They know you are going to avenge their cruel imprisonment and death. And if any of you should fall on the field of honor in this great undertaking, they will welcome you with open arms and praise you for your bravery and zeal. You must remember they left this world in the flower of their youth. Fate denied them the joy of seeing you grow into manhood as they lay in a mass grave piled one on top of the other .”
Several of the older women sobbed out loud.
Harrigan paused to let the females give vent to their grief. “Colonel Valenzuela and Comandante Jager have told me you will make several more attacks against the Gringos before launching into an all-out invasion to drive them from our land. Have no fear. God is on your side! He encourages you to right these wrongs inflicted on virtuous and honorable Irish lads. And now I bid you farewell. Although I will be gone, I shall remain in San Patricio in spirit. Thank you.”
He stepped down from the box, shook hands with the three leading officers, then walked slowly into the darkness back to his tent with Fidel close behind him. Weeping broke out among the crowd and the vengadores all wiped at the tears in their eyes. Then Vengador Francisco Orayly stood up and shouted as loud as he could.
“Viva Nuestra Venganza!”