EIGHTY-SIX

Celaya

MARINA AND I arrived in Celaya midday on the following day, hours ahead of the army. I had expected to find barricades and armed troops challenging the entry of anyone who ventured toward the city, but the opposite was true: There were no defenses. We arrived in time to see the regimental commanders and most of their troops evacuating the city.

“The militia and the gachupines are abandoning the city.”

“Some people are taking up arms,” she pointed out.

Criollos and their servants were setting up a barricaded corridor near the town square.

Rumors covering every possible scenario raced through the city. Many believed the rebels would rape the city and murder everyone. Others claimed only the gachupines would be harmed. Some said the Virgin Herself led the army, and no one would be harmed.

The only accurate intelligence I had to report to the padre concerned the futility of resistance, and the wildfire resistance could ignite.

“There’s a small force of brave criollos willing to fight for the city, a few dozen. If they fire a volley, I fear what our troops will do.”

The question I left hanging in the air was whether the indios would run or rape the city.

The padre was relieved that the viceroy’s troops had fled, but Allende was not. “I had hoped for the opportunity to address them and get them to join us,” Allende said.

The padre woke me after midnight with a written message that I was to carry to the city’s administrators, the ayuntamiento.

“Delivering terms of surrender,” the padre said, “can be a lethal assignment. They sometimes shoot the messenger.”

I shrugged off the danger. From what I had seen of the city’s panic, I believed the town fathers would welcome a peaceful surrender.

I was shocked, however, at the language of the message to the city fathers:

We have approached this city with the object of securing the persons of all the European Spaniards. If they surrender with discretion, their persons will be treated humanely. But should they offer resistance, and give the order to fire upon us, we shall treat them with corresponding rigor. May God protect your honors for many years.

Field of Battle, September 19,
1810
Miguel Hidalgo
Ignacio Allende

P.S. The moment that you give the order to fire upon our troops, we will behead the seventy-eight Europeans we have in our custody.

Miguel Hidalgo
Ignacio Allende

As the padre walked me to my horse, he said, “I’m saddened that I must behave barbarically while I wear the uniform of a soldier, but I am not the first man of God who had to take up the sword. Now that I have my own war to fight, I find myself more tolerant and understanding of a pope who sends an army to the Holy Land, knowing that thousands will die, many of them innocents.”

He squeezed my arm. “Please tell them in the strongest terms that they must surrender the city without firing a shot. If fighting erupts, I may not be able to control the army.”

In the predawn hours of September 20, I delivered the message to the alcalde.

“We need the response, pronto,” I told him, after emphasizing the gravity of the situation.

“We must meet and confer,” he responded.

I pointed at the steeple of a church. “Señor if there is any doubt in your mind, go to the top of that tower and open your eyes.”

I left, wondering if a nervous trigger finger would fire a musket ball into my back.

My suggestion to study us from a high tower was a good one; the city officials would see campfires by the thousands, underscoring the scope of the danger they faced. Allende had ordered that the fires remain lit until an hour after the message was delivered.

Finally, a messenger emerged from the city around midday and announced they would permit entry without a struggle. They asked for time to “prepare” for the entry, and the padre gave them until the next day.

“What do they prepare for?” I asked the padre.

“They need time to hide their treasures,” he said. “I don’t blame them. And we need the day to organize a crude chain of command to prevent looting and to obtain supplies. With every passing hour, our ranks swell, increasing our need for food and weapons.” He shook his head. “It’s an almost insurmountable task.”

We entered the city the next day. I was in the vanguard with Hidalgo, Allende, and Aldama. The lower classes cheered our arrival, but the criollos mostly stayed out of sight.

As we came into the main square, I looked up and saw a man on the top of a municipal building. Amid the cheers, I barely heard the shot but saw black-powder smoke billow from the gun. I don’t know where the bullet hit, but the next moment all hell broke loose. Our people began returning fire for no discernible purpose since the person was already gone. Still the guns boomed, as did the passions of the Aztecs.

Surging in all directions, our indios looted as they had in San Miguel, but this time none of us, not even the padre, could stop them. They were too numerous and moved in too many directions. Allende tried to keep order. Galloping into the crowd, he slashed down with his sword at men breaking down the front gate of a house. His horse slipped on cobblestones and went down. I urged my own mount toward him. Clearing a path of indios away, I gave him a chance to remount, perhaps saving his life.

He drew his pistol, and I yelled at him, “No, it’s no use. If you shoot, they’ll tear you to pieces.”

Frustrated, he galloped off, but not out of fear. He knew if the indios turned on him, the rebellion would be lost. A man of incontrovertible courage, he would have willingly gone down fighting had it served his purpose.

I averted my eyes from the savagery as I rode away. A single shot had ignited a riot in a small town. What would happen when we reached Guanajuato, the largest city in the region—and actual fighting erupted? ¡Ay! a beast had been unleased, a wild thing that no one would be able to control.