Finally, the soldaderas dispersed to forage for food and gather firewood, others to the makeshift field hospital. Ximena had seen enough of the battle as well, and yet, she couldn’t pull away. She watched Cheno with his mounted riders charging at the enemy . He tossed his rawhide lasso at a Yanqui cavalryman, catching him by the neck, and pulled him off his horse and hauled him along until the man choked to death. She thought of the stories Joaquín had told her of the spring roundups out on the open prairie when branding calves, of him teaching Cheno everything he knew about roping until the day came when the younger man bested him in the skill. When a Yanqui cannon tore into the Mexican cavalry, making a bloody mangled mess of horse and man, she could take no more. She returned to the hospital tent to get away from the horrific sights and sounds of the battlefield, from the sight of John shouting orders to his men, his cannons ripping into the North American ranks below on the plateau. From the hospital she could hear the incessant roar of the San Patricios’ cannons throughout the day. Yes, the sounds could have been from the enemy, but in her hea rt she couldn’t bear to think that the bloodcurdling screams rising from the battlefield belonged to her countrymen and to the foreign soldiers who had so gallantly taken a stand on behalf of Mexico.
After many hours, the combat finally ceased when the sky broke open, flooding the terrain with a cold, heavy rain, turning the battlegrounds into a lagoon. Both armies took a respite to wait for the rain to pass. From the ridge, she could see the horror of the aftermath, with soldiers fallen in heaps everywhere, limbs interlaced. The hospital aides and burial parties went out to search in the muck for their injured and slain. The wheels of the wagons got stuck in the mud, and the hospital aides had no choic e but to carry the wounded one by one in makeshift stretchers made of muskets. The wounded were laid upon the muddy ground of the hospital for want of cots and blankets, and there they remained stretched upon the bare earth, their uniforms caked with mud and blood. Ximena, the surgeons, and the other hospital attendants did their best to ease the suffering of the wounded they had managed to bring in, but they had insufficient medical supplies and shelter to provide them and not a grain of rice or drop of clean water to offer. The wind blew, like the wails of La Llorona. Ximena shivered under her thin rebozo as she listened to the eerie sounds. Two San Patricios came in carrying their comrade in their arms. Kerr Delaney’s left arm had been blown off by an exploding shell. The su rgeon ordered her to pr epare the Irishman for an immediate amputation, and she wished she could save what was left of the arm from the surgeon’s saw. But upon seeing the torn muscles, the crushed bones, the thin pieces of flesh hanging from the limb, she k new there was nothing she could do but help hold him down and give him strength. “It’s going to be all right, Kerr,” she said. “Don’t fret about me, lassie,” he said. “And don’t be alarmed about Lieutenant Riley. We’ve been givin’ the Yanks hell out there. Took two of their guns, we did.” After the operation, Santa Anna’s manservant came looking for her. She changed her apron and cleaned herself as best she could and was escorted to his quarters. A war meeting was taking place, and they all turned to look at her. A hush fell inside the tent . Her eyes locked with John’s, and she wished she could run to his arms, but she stood at the entrance of the tent, clutching her basket. On seeing her, Santa Anna dismissed everyone, and his chiefs and officers took their leave. John squeezed her shoulder as he passed and smiled encouragingly. His uniform was blackened with powder stains, and his eyes were irritated from the smoke, but otherwise, he seemed fine. In the evening, she would pr epare chamomile tea to rinse his eyes. “Delaney?” “He’s alive.” “Good. I’ll go see him now,” he said. The flaps of the tent closed behind him, and it took every ounce of strength to remain inside the tent and not follow him
out. Santa Anna bid her closer to where he sat. “Ximena, please, I’m in need of your services.” He winced as he removed his wooden leg. “You didn’t have to send your officers away,” she said. “I can minister to your wounds while you conduct your meeting.” “No, no. They must resume their positions. And I can’t have my subordinates see me in this state. I would lose my authority if they saw any weakness on my part.” His stump was bleeding again, the closure had broken open. But he also had cuts and bruises on his face, and as she watched him remove his uniform jacket and saw the blood on the shirt beneath, she understood why he had sent everyone away. “Damn Yanquis killed my horse from under me,” he said as she checked for broken ribs. “I barely managed to avoid being crushed to death by my own mount. That wouldn’t have been such a glorious death, would it?” While she cleaned and dressed his wounds, he spoke to her about the battle, how before the rain had forced a pause in the fighting, he had enveloped Taylor’s left flank and gained his rear, had decimated three of his cavalry units, and had taken two standa rds and three artillery pieces, two of which had been seized by the San Patricios themselves. Trophies of war, he called them. “My troops have secured an advantageous position on the plateau,” he said. “As soon as this wretched storm passes, we will attack even harder. Victory will be ours by the time the sun sets tonight, and I shall present a new laurel to our nation.” She nodded enthusiastically, wanting to believe. Needing to believe. “You can do it, General. You can end this war today.” “I won’t yield,” he said as she reattached his wooden leg. “No matter how hungry or thirsty we are...” He stood up proudly and helped her stand up, then placed his hands on her shoulders. “We will stand our ground and fight to victory or death! Se lo prometo , Ximena.” As soon as the storm passed, the fighting recommenced, its brutality a dark contrast to the beautiful rainbow that painted the sky. Through the interminable hours, all she could do was pray, knowing that if Jimmy Maloney were there with her, he would’ve ke pt her abreast of the battle. But he was gone, and now the only thing she cared about, regardless of whether they won or lost, was that John and Cheno would be alive and standing when the last cannonball flew. As dusk settled over the land, the two armies called for a cease - fire, twelve hours after the fighting began. The field was a marshland, the gunpowder too damp. Ximena and the other
soldaderas went into the boggy field of carnage. So many mutilated bodies of both men and horses were scattered about that she couldn’t even walk without st epping on a limb or slipping on a pool of blood. As the curses, prayers, and screams of the dying re ached a crescendo around her, and she saw the faces disfigured by death, she realized that the real winner in this battle was La Muerte. Men and beasts shrieked in excruciating agony. Ximena forced herself to ke ep her eyes in front of her or she knew she would go mad. The wounded were being carried out to the hospital tent, but the dead lay everywhere. The soldaderas roamed the battlefield anxiously as they sought their men. Their wails mingled with the anguished cries of the dying. But sometimes, the cries were of jubilation when a wife found her husband in the muck still alive and intact. Those were moments of ecstasy, and Ximena’s spirit lifted briefly as she watched husband and wife embrace once again. She knew that she needed to work quickly, find those who could be saved and leave the rest to their fate. God have mercy on us all , she thought. The night was closing in around them and, in the dim light with their muddy uniforms, she couldn’t tell if the bodies belonged to the Mexican or the North American army, but it didn’t matter. These were human beings who reached out to her, s upplicating for help, asking to be held, men who in their last seconds of life, called out to their mothers, their wives. What could she do but kneel beside them, clutching their hands and praying for their souls as she watched them take their last breaths ? She felt a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to find John standing behind her. She fell into his arms, desperate to be held and comforted by him. At this moment, she wished with all her heart to never be s eparated from him again. Even if she knew that he could never be hers. “I wish you weren’t obliged to behold such desolation.” He wrapped his arms tighter around her, and she could feel, by the way he gave into their embrace, his own need for solace. She kissed him then, and when he returned her kiss, his desire for her ancho red her, gave her the strength to carry on with the task at hand. “I will remember this until the day I die,” she said. “A third of my men have been killed or wounded today, and I shall forever mourn this loss. Let’s hope ’twasn’t in vain.” “We’re winning, aren’t we?” “Wish to God that it be so. The battle isn’t over yet. In the morrow, there will be more fightin’. Heaven help us. With no nourishment and no protection against the elements, ’twill be a long night tonight.”
Ximena thought of what Santa Anna had said. They wouldn’t yield, no matter what. “Have you seen Cheno? Is he alive?” He took her hand and led her toward the spot where he said he had last seen his cavalry charging the Yanqui lines. “Pr epare yourself, lass. Bragg’s guns ripped many of the lancers to shreds. That sonofabitch is the reason why Taylor’s flank didn’t collapse .” They st epped over severed limbs and broken weapons, the air smelling of roasted flesh and sticky blood. The darkness brought the wild animals out. Coyotes and cougars roamed the perimeter, ready to pounce on either man or horse. One coyote came close to th em, trying to pull an arm off a dead soldier. Ximena threw a broken musket at it to scare it away, but more would come, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the bloody feast began. “Riley, Ximena, over here!” In the dim light, she could barely make out the figure of Patrick Dalton, bending over a soldier who was leaning against his horse. The animal’s entrails had spilled out, and yet, the horse chewed on the wet grass with indifference, oblivious to its conditi on. “Cheno!” She and Riley rushed to his side. “Are you hurt?” His leg was stuck under his stallion. “I think it’s broken.” As Riley, Dalton, and Cheno’s friends pulled him out and carried him away, stumbling in the dark toward the field hospital, a cougar growled, and Ximena turned to see the wild cat and a lobo facing each other, pr eparing to fight over the horse. Don’t they understand there is no need to fight? Don’t they see there is plenty here for them all to gorge their fill? Sensing the danger, the horse began to squeal. Ximena yanked a musket from a fallen soldier’s hands and shot the animal dead. After she set Cheno’s broken leg and made him a cast with the pulp of crushed globe mallow roots, he succumbed to a de ep sle ep. Soon the rain started up again and it was too dark to see. The search for the wounded was called off for the night, and everyone sought shelter from the unrelenting rain and bitter cold. The soldiers and the camp women lamented not being able to light fires to lessen the evening chill, and most had neither a blanket nor a sarape to protect themselves from the elements. Not one piec e of bread or tortilla remained for them to eat. Wrapped in her frayed rebozo, Ximena busied herself with the injured and didn’t allow herself to think about how cold and hungry she was. John came into the tent and, by the look on his face, she knew he was the bearer of bad news. “The commander has order ed the troops to withdraw from the area and leave our dead and wounded behind.”
“We are retreating?” Ximena asked incredulously. They had suffered severe losses, yes, but she knew they had won the day. “We’ve exhausted our ammunition and our provisions. Our troops won’t withstand another day of fightin’. Taylor, on the other hand, has just received two regiments to reinforce him and our spies have spotted forty wagons of fresh supplies on the way.” “So, we are running away? All those men died, and now we abandon the field and let the Yanquis win?” “Durin’ the war council, some of us tried to dissuade our general from yieldin’ the field to the enemy. To make him see reason. Death on the field of battle is a better destiny than to die strewn upon the road. But there were many others who were of the sa me mind as he. The general has claimed today’s victory and given the order to withdraw. We’re to pull back to Agua Nueva at once.” “How can we be victorious if we are the ones running away?” “We can’t.” He clenched his fists. “The troops don’t deserve this, I know. ’Tis an insult to all that we’ve sacrificed. Once we relinquish the field, Taylor will be the victor.” “Then we must not abandon it. We must stand our ground, just like Santa Anna said we would!” “Believe me, lass, the man in me condemns his decision, but the soldier in me has to obey my commander. The only way out is to violate the oath I have made to your country. Would you have me be a deserter yet again?” She could see the turmoil inside him, sensed his impotence. She felt the rage course through her as she hurried out of the field hospital. “Lass, come back. Where d’ya think you’re goin’? You won’t reason with him, I tell ya!” She broke into a run, not listening to anything but her own fury. Santa Anna’s ornate carriage and baggage carts waited outside his tent, but she knew he was still inside. The guards knew her, and they didn’t try to stop her from bursting into his private quarters. He was standing by his desk dictating a letter to his secretary while his staff finished packing his belongings. He seemed surprised to see her. “You have something to say to me, I see.” He motioned to his secretary and aides to leave and waited for her to approach. “You said you would never run away.”
“I’m not running away. I’m protecting my men from being slaughtered. Their performance today was outstanding. They have done their duty, so let us rejoice in the blessings of today. Tomorrow will be a different story.” “You’re wrong. I’ve watched every soldier fight with strength and loyalty, even without decent weapons, without food and water, without proper shoes and clothing. They’ve fought on an empty stomach, and they’ve held the field. And now you’re taking that from them? Turning them into cowards on the run, like the cocks you disdain so much.” “It’s not for want of courage, it’s for want of provisions that we leave. I’m saving the honor of our army by sparing them from the shame and certainty of a defeat. Let us claim victory while we’re still ahead.” “Why won’t you let them fight and die with honor like the brave men that they are? Are you afraid of being captured by the Yanquis... again?” “Who do you think you are? I do not owe you an explanation for my decisions!” he said, shaking her by the arm. “I am the commander - in - chief of this army.” “You are the commander - in - cowardice. You don’t deserve this army,” she spat, yanking her arm from his grip. How could she have allowed herself to be fooled by him? “You don’t deserve John Riley and the San Patricios, the eight hundred wounded in the field hospitals, the weary soldiers braving hunger and thirst, the thousands slaughtered in vain. It should be you out there being eaten by cougars!” He raised his hand, as if to slap her. Instead, he pulled her to him and tried to kiss her. She turned her face, and his lips landed on her cheek. He laughed. “You have more cojones than my chiefs, querida. Your courage is truly admirable. One day, I shall make you a general.” He saluted her and yelled to his driver outside to pr epare the carriage. He held out his hand to escort her. “I’d rather walk,” she said. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she left the tent and went out into the starless night. March 1847 On the road to San Luis Potosí The dispirited troops broke camp and undertook the inglorious retreat to Agua Nueva, thence to San Luis Potosí. The weak and the wounded were soon left to the buzzards. As the days progressed, Riley was disheartened to see that they were taking further los ses. Soon the bulk of
their dead consisted not of those who had fallen in action, but of those who had collapsed on the road and were left to blacken in the sun, or who crawled into the thicket to die alone. He trudged along with the crippled battalions, many of them shoeless a nd their clothes in tatters, trying not to walk over the bodies of the fallen or trample upon those who had yet to take their last breaths. He turned his eyes from these images, which only increased his feelings of helplessness. He regretted bitterly once again that they had not been allowed to die honorably on the battlefield and had instead abandoned it to the enemy. By committing the folly of this tragic retreat, Santa Anna had compromised the national honor he had sworn to defend and undermined the mora le of his army, increasing its misery and hardship. Without a drop of rain to swallow the choking dust, the camp women left the columns to make fruitless forays into the brush to locate fresh water. The best that could be found was stagnant and foul - smelling, and if it hadn’t been for Ximena, Riley might no t have been able to resist. Those too thirsty to care had thrown themselves into the puddles to drink, only to collapse from dysentery hours later, convulsing horrendously in pain. Ximena had filled his water gourd, thrown a chopped nopal into it, and wait ed hours until the water had been purified before allowing him a drink of it. Several times, he went with her into the brush, and she managed to find enough food to ke ep them alive for one more day — a small barrel - shaped cactus she carefully peeled and sliced before feeding him the green pulp inside, chia sage seeds she shook off the plant, which he licked right off the palm of her hand, roots she pried from the stingy soil and he nibbled on with relish. Another time, he lifted her high onto his shoulders so she could reach the flow ering stalk of a towering yucca plant.