A Ballad of Love and Glory(72)
Drifting in and out of a troubled slumber, he dreamed he was back in Clifden, trudging through the frozen field down to his snow-dusted cottage. This time when he opened the door, seeking the warmth inside, the turf fire had gone out completely, and the winter winds were moaning through every corner. He stood by the door watching Nelly asleep in their straw bed, and she turned to look at him, her gray eyes as dreary as the wintry sky. Her bluish lips opened and spoke to him in a mournful voice. “Come here, avourneen. Come lie with me.” She opened her arms and Riley wanted nothing more than to put his head on her bosom and sleep. He slid into the bed beside her, seeking comfort from his wife’s warm body, but she was cold, so cold, like a maiden made of ice. She gripped him fiercely and wouldn’t let go. “Sleep now, avourneen,” she said, and her breath was an icy blast of wind.
Then, he heard another voice. From far away.
“Open your eyes, John!”
He groaned in his sleep, but Ximena’s voice was calling him from somewhere in his dream. When he awoke, he found tears frozen on his cheeks. Felt a cold he’d never felt before. His joints were stiff, and he couldn’t feel his legs. He huddled closer to his second-in-command, who was also awake and clutching the ridge pole holding up their rattling tent while the storm howled about and beat against the canvas walls.
Dalton handed Riley his flask of mezcal and said, “Have a wee drop, Lieutenant. ’Twill keep your soul from freezin’ on ya.”
They sat vigil for the balance of the night, praying for the fury of the tempest to subside and for the blessed light of the sun to shine on them once more.
* * *
Morning broke at length, and Riley was one of the first out of the tents. The trees glistened with ice glitter. Dry frigid air stung his face. The norther had abated altogether, but as he walked around the encampment, he realized that his nightmare had been nothing to what other men had suffered during that night of agony. As the troops shook off the snow from their colorful sarapes, they found four hundred Mexican men still squatting on the ground, wrapped in their sarapes, their eyes closed, their arms tightly wrapped around themselves. Eternal sleep had claimed them.
“Heavens!” Dalton said as Riley approached him. “These poor wights, freezin’ down to the very marrow in their bones.”
Riley nodded, blowing some warm air into his hands. “Did we lose any of ours?”
“Two,” Patrick said. “Cooney and O’Brien.”
“Cooney from Cavan and O’Brien from Tipperary?”
“Aye, the very ones.”
Riley shook his head. “Two good soldiers, and O’Brien was a great man to tell a story.” He made the sign of the cross. “May God keep their souls.”
“Perhaps they didn’t suffer. Just drifted off to sleep and didn’t wake.”
Riley thought about his dream. Was that why he’d heard Ximena’s voice urging him to wake up? If she hadn’t, would he now be one of those stiffened corpses?
* * *
By February 17, when the troops finally arrived in Encarnación, having covered two hundred and sixty miles in three weeks, they’d lost about a quarter of the army to hunger, thirst, fatigue, exposure to the elements, or desertion. Riley mourned the loss of four more of his men, whom he and Dalton buried on the side of the road, covering their graves with cacti to keep the wild beasts from digging up their bodies. Three days later, when Santa Anna arrived in his carriage and ordered the troops to line up for review, he was not pleased with their reduction. Riley was glad to see that the commander set out to raise the morale of the soldiers who were still standing. What the men needed, besides rest and food, were words of encouragement from their leader.
“?Soldados! The enemy is waiting for us in Agua Nueva,” Santa Anna said to his troops. “The operations of the enemy demand that we should move at once upon his principal line. Privations of all kinds surround us due to the neglect shown toward us by those who should provide your pay and provisions. But when has misery ever debilitated your spirits or weakened your enthusiasm? The Mexican soldier is well known for his frugality and patience under suffering. My friends, let us purge from our soil the stranger who has dared to profane it with his presence. Let us show the North Americans that Mexico will always be ours. ?Viva la República!”
“?Viva!” the troops cheered. Despite the harsh conditions the men found themselves in, they were ready for a fight.
That evening, while he and Ximena had supper together, Riley told her about the storm and the frozen men. “I heard you callin’ me,” he said. Then, remembering the expression on her face before he left, he asked, “How did you know that was goin’ to happen?”
“I wish to know,” she said. “I almost died from cólera when I was twelve. My Nana saved me. Since then, I have strange dreams sometimes. Visions of things to come.”
“In my dream, Nelly was frozen. What does that signify, lass? Have you seen her in your visions?”
“No,” she said. “I only dreamed of the storm. Men frozen. That night I knew I needed to wake you before it was too late.”
When he retired to his tent, he lay awake, his mind uneasy until the day finally dawned.
* * *
In the morning after they broke camp, Santa Anna addressed his troops once again to lift up their spirits. It was his fifty-third birthday, and with great enthusiasm, he led his army forward on the march to Taylor’s camp, thirty-five miles distant. Riley was once again impressed with how fast the Mexican soldiers could march.