Chapter 35

The Shores of Veracruz

Veracruz, Mexico

March 1847

Above the chilled air of the evening arose the clandestine sounds of oars digging into the water, the grunts of men straining against the tides, and the lapping of waves against the sides of the longboats.

It seemed surreal to Seamus that having never fired a weapon in his life, he sat in his United States military blues, thick cotton trousers, a greatcoat, and cloth forage cap gripping a rifle he was issued yet barely knew how to clean. What little training he and Pierce earned occurred aboard the majestic brig that sailed them through the Atlantic, around Straits of Florida, and over the Gulf of Mexico. They hadn’t even touched soil when they were told they would be transported from their ship to one of these long, narrow surfboats that would be used in an assault of their enemy.

As to their enemy? The Mexicans? Seamus could not garnish a full explanation as to why the Americans were at war at all. All he knew was that this recruitment wafted him out of the danger in Manhattan and would provide him with wages, whether he discharged his weapon or not. And for his part, he would be perfectly content never to hear the sound of gunpowder.

Pierce, on the other hand, seemed intoxicated by the aroma of battle. He wasn’t in need of a cause. Sometime shortly after putting on his cotton trousers, waistcoat, and sash, he had subscribed to the feverish hunger of many of the men on the ship.

His friend sat across from Seamus in the bench of the boat, gripping his rifle and nodding his head in a rhythmic manner.

“Do you know what you’re to do?” said the slender sergeant to his right.

“No, sir, I don’t,” Seamus said.

“Well enough, lad,” the sergeant said in a voice lower than the rowing. “We’ll be landing shortly. You’re to disembark, keeping your rifle above your head, high like this as you go to beach. Keep it out of the water or you’ll spoil the powder, and you’ll have them laughing at you as they run a bayonet through your heart. Keep your head down as the bullets will ride in like wind and bring tears to your mama.”

“Yes sir, Sergeant O’Malley.”

As they approached the harbor of Veracruz just before sunset, the target of their desire was beauteous to behold. Mastheads dotted the coastline before a shorefront that lead up in a sharp ascent to a castle-like fortress. It seemed both frightening in its impenetrability and too opulent to destroy.

Seamus’s heart pounded as they came closer to shore in the shield of darkness. They were among forty or so other surfboats, with an arsenal of great wooden ships creeping in behind them. They were approaching with power and stealth.

The sergeant pulled out a telescope, extracted it to full length, and panned their approach.

“What do you see?” Pierce asked.

“It’s hard to tell much without light.” The sergeant folded the telescope back with a snap. “Steady. Steady. Another thirty yards and we’ll be in it, boys. Steady.”

“Why aren’t we being hit?” Pierce said.

“Can’t say.” The sergeant sat up, fastened his haversack tightly, and lifted his rifle. His movement was mimicked by those in the boat who weren’t rowing, and several clicks sounded as the men tested the bolts of their chambers.

“’Tis strange we haven’t been shelled,” he continued, “but it’s coming. We’ll be in the hailstorm soon.”

With a thud, the longboat came to a halt in the sandbar and they jolted forward. A flurry of curses came from the sergeant’s mouth as he climbed out of the surfboat and the other soldiers spilled over with such recklessness the vessel took on water.

Like a swarm of locusts emerging from the dark shadows, men spilled out from the dozens of ships, and in the full weight of fear they churned through the waves with their rifles held above their heads, some falling and tumbling into the waters.

“Stay close,” Pierce shouted to Seamus as they ran blindly into what they expected to be a torrent of fury.

Seamus could feel the gasping of his breath as he had exhausted nearly all of his air in the frenzy of the landing.

To the dunes. To the dunes.

He knew a relatively safe position could be assumed if they could make it to the sand hills that lay ahead. They seemed miles away as Seamus ran toward them when he heard the first crack of lightning in the sky and the evening skies lit up with brilliant flashes.

Seamus felt naked in the light and tumbled into the sand, then began to crawl on all fours.

“Get up!” Pierce pulled him from the shoulder of his coat. Seamus lumbered to his feet, and as he did felt something ripping into his back and he fell again. He promptly realized it was one of his compatriots who had rammed him from behind.

Up again he sprinted ahead, trying to make Pierce’s profile out from among the rushing infantrymen.

Another burst in the air above and Seamus screamed, his head vibrating with terror. Just ahead were the dunes and already they were getting claimed by those ahead of him. They had all scattered from their ranks, and for the moment it was everyone for themselves to find an oasis of safety.

Again, a splash of light and this time it helped him identify Pierce shouting and waving toward him.

Another thirty steps and he would be there. Now Seamus could hear the whistling of crossfire like the flapping of angry wings.

Please, God. Have mercy.

Back to his hands and knees, he pounded away at the sand, churning it behind him.

Ten yards more.

An explosion. Bright colors.

He was grabbed by Pierce and pulled into a small mound of sand, and Seamus dug himself deeply into it as if content to bury himself entirely in its firm arms. His mouth filled with sand.

Pierce pulled him out by the lapels of his coat and shook him violently. “Have you ever had such a thrill?” His eyes lit with madness.

“I can think of a few better.” Seamus spit the sand out of his mouth.

There were still many figures approaching from the shadows, and it gave Seamus comfort to see the forces at hand. He also discovered that most of the firing he had heard was coming from cannons of the American ships at sea.

A soldier crouching in his run came toward them and landed at their dune. When he got closer, Seamus was pleased to see it was the sergeant.

“This is strange they are laying down,” he said to the men. “I don’t know if they are cowards, plain stupid, or if they are outflanking us. Be on guard. Our orders now are to settle in and let the cannons wear them down a bit.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Seamus said, still wiping the grit from his teeth.

“Shouldn’t we make a run?” Pierce asked. “While we have them in our sights?”

The sergeant took off his cap and wiped off the sweat from his forehead. “It’s not my job to keep you alive, Private Brady.” He placed his hat back on and adjusted it. “Just to make sure you don’t die an idiot.”

The sergeant addressed the rest of the men. “Keep your sights sharp for a while, but if we don’t get countered, we’ll tent up here.” With that he left and disappeared into the darkness.

“What was that about?” Seamus punched Pierce in his arm.

“What? I thought we were here to fight?”

“You’ll do well to listen to the sergeant, every word,” said Private Sean Wheelan, a squat man with a pug nose and an eye that drifted.

“Is that so?” Pierce said.

“He’s pulled many a lad from the fire, that one.” Wheelan was wiping sand from his rifle with a rag. “It’s a keen blessing he didn’t sign up with the other side.”

“What do you mean by that?” Seamus asked.

“San Patricio’s Army. He was one of the first recruits.”

Seamus and Pierce shook their heads.

“Really? You Micks haven’t heard of Saint Patrick’s Battalion? San Patricios as the natives call them. Our own people. The Irish. Fighting for the Mexicans. The sergeant was there at the Rio Grande before the first shot was fired in this war. The Yanks on one side of the river and the Mexicans on the other, just staring each other down. Taunting and parading, but none with the gumption to shoot. Well, the Mexicans learned how many Irish boys were wearing the American uniforms and sent pamphlets across the river, pushing the Catholic cause and promising to pay double wages.”

“The sergeant crossed the river?” Pierce sipped from his canteen.

The whistle of approaching artillery came in, and they covered up as it exploded close enough to hear but too far to cause them damage.

“They are honing in,” Seamus said nervously.

“Ah, we’re safe here in the dunes,” Pierce said. “The only way we’ll be hit is by our own ships. So you’re telling me the sergeant is a traitor?”

“A traitor to what?” Wheelan said. “He’s here for the same reason as all of us poor saps. It’s not about what we do here; it’s about what we send home. Don’t matter if it’s dollars or pesos.”

“But the sergeant is here with us,” Seamus said.

“’Tis. Is true. He went out with a few dozen others and swam the river. Persuaded by Major John Reilly, the San Patricios leader himself. But as the sergeant tells it, he was stricken with remorse before he reached the other shoreline. He turned and came back.”

“That’s a fine thing he did,” Seamus said. “I kind of fancy the fellow.”

“Ah, we all do.” Wheelan nodded. “Yet it didn’t stop him from getting saddled. Never mind he came clean. They nearly shot him for it, and it’s why after all his heroics, he’s still a sergeant and probably always will be. They can’t clear the rank for him, but they give him the tasks of a captain. Maybe he should have kept swimming.”

Pierce patted his rifle. “Are we going to get to shoot this thing?”

“Suffering!” Seamus started scratching his hands. He felt stinging in his legs, then his back, and it spread to several parts of his body.

Wheelan laughed. “It’s just the sand fleas, boy. You’ll worry more about the fleas, the scorpions, Yellow Fever, the blasted heat, and Mexican bandits than you’ll do about any army.”

“I feel them too.” Pierce stood, scratching at his legs. Shots fired and they whipped past his head.

“Down, you fool.” Wheelan pulled Pierce to the ground.

Pierce fought back. “I’m going to let them have it.”

But before he could stand, a mighty racket was sounded, and from the water the cannons of several dozen ships unleashed their arsenal into the belly of the Mexican fortress.

With each blast, Seamus cringed and dug himself deeper into the back of the dune. He wanted it to stop, as his head rung and his flesh tightened.

Yet, it didn’t cease. And in a few hours, they took shifts trying unsuccessfully to sleep.

The war raged on for several days, but this time it was the late winter storms creating the fury. The northers had swept down into Veracruz, and relentless winds whipped up the sands to the point where the entrenched soldiers could hardly see their own feet. Swarms of heavy rains would come and go, drenching the encampment and making impossible the plans to bring the heavy artillery ashore.

The return fire from the fortress had caused the ships to retreat out of cannon reach, which meant they would wait until the weather cleared before carrying on the assault. For Seamus it all added up to the most miserable cold he had ever experienced.

“Do you think they’ll allow us a fire yet?” Seamus said.

Wheelan chipped away at the stick he was whittling. “Nothing like telling the Mexicans exactly where to shoot their load.”

“I’d rather take a cannonball in the mug than bear this weather much further.”

“It’s the boredom that’s killing me,” Pierce said. “We haven’t moved in four days.”

“Soon enough you’ll be begging your maker for more boredom.” Wheelan sat up alertly. “Here comes the sergeant.”

“Gentlemen.” The sergeant was chewing tobacco and spat out into the night. “Private Wheelan. They are sending some engineers on a scout mission. The captain’s requested you come along.”

“Captain Lee?”

“That’s the one,” the sergeant said. “In all his glory.”

“’Tis a good thing,” Wheelan said. “To stretch these legs.”

“Requesting permission to go as well,” Pierce said.

Sergeant O’Malley began to shake his head but seemed to change his mind. “If the private here is willing to nurse you, then you can.”

“Him as well, sir?” Pierce pointed to Seamus, who was less than thrilled about the recommendation.

“It’s up to Private Wheelan.”

“We’ll stick tight, Sergeant,” Private Wheelan said.

“Let’s get on it,” the sergeant said.

Before Seamus could muster a protest, they were weaving their way through the muddy dunes where they met up with several others, including a tall man named Captain Lee. He must have sensed their greenness because he eyed both Pierce and Seamus with derision.

Sergeant O’Malley spoke up. “Captain, they’re new volunteers but they’ll serve well. They wanted patrol duty.”

Captain Lee, with his prominent sideburns, raised his chin and turned toward the enemy lines, just as another torrent of rain swept upon them. He spoke with a smooth, slow voice, which revealed his Southern heritage. “We can’t get the ships in close enough, and the general wants the enemy to submit by firepower, thereby holding down our casualties. That means we’re going to need to set up a battery emplacement as soon as the skies clear.” He looked up despondently. “If they ever do.”

“What do you need us for, Captain?” the sergeant asked, having to shout above the tempest.

“It will take us a while to build the emplacement, which means it’ll be necessary to find the right location. We’re going to make an excursion to those city walls up there and see if we can find the soft spot in their defenses.”

The Southerner spoke at a steady volume and they found themselves leaning in to hear his directions as the rain pelted. “Now, gentlemen, I don’t consider it necessary to inform you of how delicate this foray is, but I will provide you with this chance again to remove yourself from this duty.”

Seamus wanted above all to have the courage to step forward. To retreat without concern of anything but his safety, but he found himself mesmerized by the captain’s air of confidence. He wanted no part of the danger, but he didn’t want to be left out either.

“Well enough,” the captain said. “Let’s proceed. Leave your packs here as we won’t be spending any more time where we’re going than necessary. We’ll have little use of gunpowder in this sleet, so secure your bayonets and let’s pray to the Almighty they won’t be needed.”

The soldiers who had not yet done so snapped their bayonets into place, and they fell in line behind the captain. There were a dozen among them, and Pierce, Seamus, and the sergeant ended up at the rear.

Then like specters sifting up through the hills, they began their slow ascent as the winds howled around them, making their steps silent to the world. As they crossed the last of the sand dunes, they went down to their knees and crawled on their stomachs.

Seamus’s ears had never felt so alive and he could hear every noise in the air, and each one made his blood rise in a growing crescendo. He didn’t know why he found himself thinking about Clare, and he wondered how his sister was doing alone in the city. Many weeks had passed since he had fled Manhattan, and this was the first time he questioned his abandonment of her.

He needed to leave the city, but should he have taken her with them? Certainly, there were other options besides enlisting in the army. But now, of course, it was too late. Just another instance of Seamus making a poor decision and having it affect others. He even started to think of his brothers and sister back home.

God. If I make it out of here, I promise to take better care of my family. You’ll see that I will.

They came up to a short stone wall, and just as they arrived they heard voices approaching. The captain signaled for them to freeze, and they all tucked up tightly and silently against the wall.

Seamus was grateful for the pounding torrent because it cloaked the screams of his heart in his chest. Through the beating of the water against the stones and the jarring gusts, the strange words of their enemy grew louder, and it was clear there were many passing on the other side of the wall. They must have wandered upon some major crossway outside the city walls.

They were marching at a steady pace, boots pulsating. The clamor of stilted conversation. The barking of a senior officer. “¡Rápidamente, muchachos!”

Growing louder. Hundreds.

He stopped breathing.

Without raising his head, Seamus glanced at Pierce beside him in the dim light of a partial moon and saw his friend’s body quivering, his face struck with terror. Seamus worried Pierce would shake his cover.

Seamus placed his hand on Pierce’s calf and gripped it to strengthen his resolve, and it seemed to work.

Although it was just a few minutes in total, it seemed an hour before the soldiers passed, and leaning up, Seamus saw the captain peering over the wall. When he guessed it was safe, Seamus did as well, creeping up. He caught the last winding marchers disappearing from sight in the distance.

The captain motioned for them to proceed and Seamus tapped Pierce to get to his feet. In a few moments the men leapt over the stone wall and ran for a patch of trees across the way.

Once in the cover of the trees, protected from the rain and from the eyes of the enemy, Seamus regained his calm. The worst was over. At least for now.

The captain gathered them together. “Just a ways through these woods will be the walls of the fortification. We’ll be able to use one of these here trees to scale the encasement. Then we’ll gather our reconnaissance. I need a few men stationed here by the edge of these trees to make sure we aren’t flanked. Sergeant, you and two of your men.”

“Yes sir. Privates Hanley and Brady.”

Seamus felt relief to see the captain and the others vanish into the trees without him. He was more than happy with his assignment.

“All right you grubs,” said the sergeant. “Let’s spread out here and keep out of sight.” He grabbed Seamus by his coat. “Remember, Captain Lee is an important man in this army and a particular favorite of the general. Which means his life matters a whole lot more than yours, Private. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

They put about thirty yards between them with Pierce to the left and Seamus in the middle. Sitting under the cover of the trees, Seamus couldn’t imagine what danger there would be at this point, but O’Malley’s warning rang in his ear, so he kept his focus and held his rifle firmly.

Once again the rain came down in force, and with his emotions tempered, Seamus now realized how brutally cold it was outside. The temperature itself was frigid, but what made it so painful was that his cotton uniform was completely soaked. He set his rifle up against a tree and wrapped his arms tightly around himself as his teeth began to clatter.

What he wouldn’t give to be sitting in front of his turf fireplace back in Branlow. He had complained about the cold back home, but after tonight he would never again.

Seamus looked over to where the sergeant was hiding, and he couldn’t make him out in the darkness at all. When he glanced toward Pierce’s position, his friend was clear to see. He wanted to shout out to him to cover up better, but right then he heard the sounds of soldiers approaching.

Seamus grabbed his rifle and flopped prone on the ground. Coming down the pathway before the short wall was a sentry unit of a couple dozen Mexican troops. Rather than marching as the other battalion, they were clearly on patrol and with weapons in hand. Had they been alerted to their position?

Glancing over at Pierce, he was relieved to see his friend was out of view now, which meant he heard the troops as well.

Closer they came. Stepping like cats on a fence, they surveyed the stone wall closely and then peered ominously into the woods. Two soldiers stepped in and Seamus put his head down.

The crunching of leaves and twigs under boots grew as they approached and then paused.

“Nadie,” said one of the men.

“Entonces, vamos,” said another.

The stepping sounded again, but it was fading. Seamus lifted his head to see the Mexicans moving down the pathway in the direction of Pierce. Once again, a few peeled off into the woods, skulking and prodding with their weapons. But then they cleared out and headed down the trail.

Seamus let out a deep sigh. He imagined the captain and the men would be back soon, and this unfortunate adventure would be concluded.

But then, one of the Mexicans was peeling from his group and tracing back to the woods by Pierce.

Lifting up to a crouch, Seamus decided to head toward his friend. Stepping ever so carefully through the foliage, again grateful for the blanketing fervor of the rain.

As he got closer, he couldn’t see Pierce, but a soldier set down his weapon and fumbled with his pants. He began to urinate probably only about ten feet from where Pierce must have been hiding. When finished, he buckled up and then turned to leave and then froze in attention.

All of the sudden, the soldier grabbed his rifle, ran over in Pierce’s direction, and pointed the bayonet. “Se levanta,” he barked and Pierce stood and surrendered his rifle to the ground.

“Digame. ¿Que esta haciendo?”

Seamus circled around the man slowly, terrified by the choices facing him.

The Mexican poked Pierce in the chest with his bayonet, causing him to stumble backward and fall. He raised his hands in defense.

The soldier leaned over Pierce and then turned as if he was going to shout to his companions, but Seamus was upon him and drove the tip of his blade into the back of the man, causing him to gasp with an awful sound that was engulfed in the watery deluge. The Mexican fell to the ground, removing himself from Seamus’s blade.

Pierce covered his face with his hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

“Get up, Pierce. The captain’s coming.”

The sergeant joined them and examined the corpse of the Mexican. “He’s dead.”

With a rustling of branches, the captain and the other men gathered around the dead solider as one of them lifted Pierce to his feet and handed his rifle to him.

“Captain Lee,” Seamus said firmly with a newfound confidence that even surprised him, “there are a dozen other soldiers who will be looking for this man in a few moments. We must go.”

The captain met the eyes of Seamus and gazed deeply as if into the bottom of his soul. “What’s your name, Soldier?”

“Private Seamus Hanley . . . sir.”

He nodded at Seamus and then waved the others to join him as he left the woods into the clearing, and they slipped over the wall and down to their encampment.

As they streamed back to camp, Seamus kept thinking of the nod he received from the captain, and it filled him with pride and lifted every step. All his life, he never once experienced that kind of affirmation from his father.

Making sure no one saw him, Seamus sobbed quietly as the rain came down.