Flight of the Earls

by Michael K. Reynolds

  “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.

  Chapter 36

  Jalapa

  The impenetrable fortress of Veracruz was brought to its knees by the heavy artillery relentlessly launched into the heart of the city. The soldiers said it was reasonably bloodless with the surrender more a result of attrition and destruction than hand-to-hand battle. This, of course, was not the case for Seamus, who was haunted by the image and sounds of his bayonet sliding into the flesh of the man he killed.

  Also remaining strong in his mind were the conflicting images of defeat, a stream of dispirited Mexican soldiers stacking their muskets, their wives and children at their sides emptying from their homeland in tears and sadness. As an Irishman, belonging to a people long oppressed by English dominance, it was difficult for him to be on this side of victory.

  With the threat of the “vomito,” or Yellow Fever, season approaching, the generals were anxious to clear out the area, and the American soldiers were equally excited to leave this land of sweltering heat and ravenous mosquitoes. The wind of victory at their backs, they marched up north to face Santa Anna’s army.

  Now, with several weeks of a treacherous journey through unforgiving lands behind them, they arrived at Plan del Rio, where they were set to gather forces and prepare for the impending assault.

  The thrill of their prior battle wins fading, the restlessness about what lay ahead swept through the American camp, sprawled with tents, horses, artillery, and thousands of troops.

  For Seamus, his memories of Veracruz were bittersweet. His killing caused him nightmares, but his exploits also spread throughout camp, and he had earned favor with Sergeant O’Malley and, more important, Captain Lee.

  This strained his relationship with Pierce, who struggled to reframe how the stories were told. When his fellow soldiers mocked him for being on his knees and begging for his life, he insisted he had been knocked to the ground. Seamus supported his friend’s version, though it didn’t seem to diminish Pierce’s jealous ranting.

  So when Seamus was summoned to be part of a special mission with Captain Lee, he didn’t bother mentioning it to Pierce. Instead Seamus grabbed his haversack, a day’s rations, his rifle, and slipped out in the early morning.

  This time, there were only four of them: Sergeant O’Malley, Captain Lee, and a lieutenant Seamus had never met before. The ground was black, jagged, and dotted with cacti, chaparral, and mesquite.

  Seamus’s sense of worth had grown through his recent experiences and even more so now as he stood with the others listening to the directions from the charismatic captain.

  Captain Lee removed his gloves, unfolded a map, and rolled it out across a tall boulder. “Over there at the crest of this butte may lie as many as six thousand enemy troops, of which at least some we are certain to encounter during our patrol today. This territory has been deemed impassable by our leadership, including our own General Scott, but I believe otherwise. It will be our assignment to prove this point by identifying a clear path. If we are successful in doing so, it would provide the U.S. Army with a considerable means of surprise.”

  Sergeant O’Malley tightened a strap on Seamus’s pack.

  “Of course,” continued the captain with his measured drawl, “if one of us is discovered through the course of this assignment, this advantage would be nullified. We must avoid capture or even being noticed at all costs.”

  The captain folded the map back together and placed it in his pocket, then snapped the button tight. “Many lives will depend on this success. Am I understood?”

  “Yes sir,” Seamus said in chorus with the others.

  Without further discourse, they began to climb up the hardened terrain over rocky ledges, sharp crags, and across ice-slick surfaces. Seamus couldn’t imagine how they’d make it through themselves, let alone an army. But it was clear by the goatlike ascent of the capta
in he was determined to find a way.

  Spreading out in a wide canvas behind the captain, they each struggled to keep pace with their leader’s inhumane progress. After a few hours Seamus had lost view of the other two trailing men and to his eyes, Captain Lee was as small as a jackrabbit up ahead in the distance. Panic started to set in as Seamus knew he had lost his bearing with the geography blending together, and his only hope was to keep the captain in his sights.

  The chase continued for a couple more hours, with Seamus fearing even to take a break for water. He had lost contact on several occasions, only to be relieved to spot the captain’s hat bobbing above a bush or boulder.

  Suddenly, the officer came to a stop and dove behind a large fallen tree. Seamus slipped behind a bush himself and felt helpless as three Mexican soldiers came into view within yards of where the captain was hiding. In amazement, he watched as they came up to the log, sat down, and unpacked their lunches.

  There was a noise behind Seamus and realizing he was completely exposed from the flank, he lost his nerve and hurtled down an embankment toward a grove of trees. Once in the shade of cover, he looked back to see who was behind him as his chest rose and fell, desperate for air.

  Another noise. Twigs cracking. He wasn’t alone.

  There was nothing ahead except for short manzanita bushes, and with no other direction to go, there was only one choice.

  He ran with all abandon.

  Blindly. Tripping. Back to his feet. Forward again. Arms flailing.

  It was hard to know for how long. It was difficult to know the distance. But when Seamus finally stopped, one thing was certain: He was completely lost.

  Panning around, he strained to identify something that would provide a clue. There were some mountain peaks off in the distance, but he couldn’t recall which direction they were in reference to his camp. Was it to the east or west of that range? Or was it south?

  Seamus sat down on a boulder, then pulled out dry tack from his pack and ate it as he sipped from his canteen. On the ground by his boots, two scorpions scuttled by and he raised his legs until they passed.