Captain Vasquez had continually preached that it was better to die a free man than to live as a man in bondage to another. Esteban could not help believing him when he said it. It sounded reasonable and the force of his personality added to the strength of his argument. The concept of freedom was a little bit lost on them, because their lives had been subject to the same destiny of the generations of their families before them. They were destined to work in the salt mines and it is likely what they would return to when they won the battle, but the idea that they could have more, the opportunity to make a different choice was intriguing to them.
Far above all of the sermons of Captain Vasquez, however, was the blood that ran through their veins, the Muisca blood, which had harbored a hatred for the rule of the Spanish since the first Spaniard drove a claim stake in the ground on the Plain of Bogota. They were not meant to be ruled by a government ten thousand miles away. They were not meant to be subject to sending the profits of their labor down the Magdalena River to be placed on a ship and sent across the ocean.
As Esteban was marching toward the battle, he couldn’t help thinking about his family and his home. It wasn’t far, a half a day’s journey, back to Zipa, but the distance seemed as vast as the one between Bogota and Spain. He missed his family. He missed the simple, normal life that they led. He missed his own bed. He missed his cousins and aunts and uncles, who often visited on Sundays or gathered at his grandmother’s house for celebrations.
Another thought suddenly came upon him as he was remembering his family; a deep regret. It was a regret that demonstrated how much he had changed. He had been horrible to his cousin Maribel. He had watched others in his family treating her the same way and believed that she was something less than the rest of them because she was an orphan. Because of that, he had decided that she could be played with, used and taken advantage of. What difference did it make? No one would ever have beaten him or even scolded him for abusing her. He now understood the difference. She was a human being, a strong one too, she had stubbornly continued to live on in spite of the abuse of the family and seemed to continue to grow in strength. He realized that in reality, he respected her, though he had never been able to stop trying to get a look at her naked body or a feel of her breasts. If he lived through this battle, he would apologize to her and he would treat her better. He crossed himself as he made his solemn promise to God.
He suddenly heard the cadence of the drums change and knew that they were signaling for them to halt. He waited for the exact beat and planted his left foot firmly in step and brought his right foot to its side, just like they had been taught. The entire unit came to a standstill in the road as they awaited their next order.
Long minutes passed as they stood waiting. The musket on Esteban’s shoulder began to get heavy and he wondered if they would ever receive the order to stand at ease. He could hear the drums and marching of other units in every direction around him and he realized that the entire army was forming up all around them. Being in the middle of the vast numbers began to bolster his confidence. Surely the Royal Spanish Army could be no match for so many men. He had heard rumors of their forces outnumbering the Spanish three to one. No one knew for certain if they were true and Captain Vasquez had told them never to believe rumors, but to fight as though they were outnumbered by the Spanish. “It will make you more fierce than jaguars and more vicious than wolves,” he had said. Because of his statement, they had named the two platoons of the unit “the Jaguars” and “The Wolves”. Esteban was a member of the Jaguar platoon and in his mind belonged to the fiercer of the two.
The sounds of drums and marching echoed across the plain and then came to a very sudden and very silent halt. For several long minutes the sound of breathing and his own beating heart was more deafening than any noise he had ever heard before. His ears strained for some form of noise to drown out the heavy silence. It was a silence so pregnant with anticipation that it was suffocating. Every sense seemed to be blocked out during those moments. He could see nothing more than the soldiers in front and beside him. He could hear nothing, but his own breathing. He could smell nothing but the dust of the road. He could feel the heat of the sun, the weight of his musket and the tingle of a rivulet of sweat as it trickled down his cheek. Another sense had come alive however; a sense of coming doom was masked in the silence and lack of sight and smell. Of all of the senses, it was the most overwhelming. It increased the pace of his breathing and caused his mouth to instantly dry out. Something that had the irony taste of blood was in his mouth and the pounding of his heart was a clear assertion that he was still alive and that there was a deep desire within him to remain so.
The silence was ended by loud commands, which were followed by drum-beats which told them to spread out into their lines for advancement. He followed his line as he had been trained and was soon shoulder to shoulder in the second line of the Jaguar platoon. He glanced to his right and saw the pale face of Franco. The moment was drawing near. “May God and the Virgin bless us both,” he said to his friend, crossing himself.
“May the Virgin accompany you,” Franco responded, crossing himself also.
The long silence which followed the formation of the troops was even worse than the silence which they had endured before. In their drilling, they had rarely gone from columns to formation to waiting. Action had always followed the maneuver and Esteban had assumed that the moment of battle would arrive the instant they were in formation. It seemed that neither side was going to fight. Perhaps the generals of both armies would ride out, talk it over and decide to cancel the battle. It was a silly thought, but he could come up with no other explanation for the long, silent pause.
What erupted next, however, left little down to the fact that both parties did indeed intend to engage in battle. From behind both lines erupted the thundering sound of artillery being launched toward the lines of the other. Mixed with the thundering voices of hundreds of cannon was the beating of drums and orders to move forward. The acrid smell of smoke and the thickness of it drifted over the lines blocking out the view of the troops in front of them.
Esteban caught occasional glimpses of Captain Vasquez off to his left and continued to marvel at how straight and stern he sat in the saddle upon the back of the dancing Ganador. He saw no fear in either man or stallion and took strength from the vision of victory that they demonstrated. He raised his chin slightly, putting on a proud air of confidence as he marched forward.
As the sound of the Spanish cannon increased in volume because the Jaguar line was moving forward, Esteban began to hear another sound which he could not quite place. It had the quality of an eerie, ghostly moan mixed with the screams of banshees. It was something that he had never heard before. Along with the sound was the sharp staccato beat of rifles being fired in volleys. As the Jaguar line moved even closer, the sound of clinking sabers and horses hooves were added into the cacophony. The smell had changed as well. It was the sickening sweet smell of blood mixed with dust and smoke.
Fear, thundering heart, heavy breathing, thick smoke, heavy musket and rivers of sweat all assaulted his senses at once. He could barely see the figure of Captain Vasquez through the smoke and barely hear the beat of the drums. Their signal changed again. They were to halt and raise their muskets. It all seemed to come upon him at once. At one moment, it had all been in the distance in front of him and in the next, he saw men in elegant uniforms coming toward them. They were formed up shoulder to shoulder in a dense line. Their muskets were at the ready and aimed toward them. He could see the barrels of several trained upon his own chest.
He fought every natural urge to turn away and run. He knew that he could not run. At the sound of a new cadence, the men in front of him dropped to a knee. The men facing him across the field mirrored the same maneuver. He had never felt so exposed and knew that at any moment would come the order to fire. Would a musket ball rip through him before he ever heard that order? He was frozen in place. The moment of death was upon him. He awaited the signal to fire. He willed the commander to hurry. Why was he taking so long? The Spanish would certainly fire before they did. If the Spanish fired first they would be wiped out. Panic surged through him, but he held his position. He could feel Franco’s shoulder next to his. He dared not look toward him, but held himself in the ready.
When the command finally came, Esteban took in the bright color of an enemy chest in front of him and pulled the trigger of his musket. He saw men falling before him and in the same instant heard what sounded like bees rushing past his face. He heard the heavy thump to his left and right and waited to feel the impact of a musket ball in his own chest. Franco groaned beside him and then collapsed and disappeared. Several of the men in front of him had disappeared as well. He saw the Spanish soldiers across the way working their muskets to reload and suddenly remembered that he needed to reload as well.
With shaking hands and fingers, Esteban poured in the power and then pushed the patch and ball into the barrel. He worked the ram rod to tamp it all into place and then changed the cap on the firing pin. It seemed like he was taking long minutes as he worked, glancing up at the soldiers facing him to measure his progress. They had told them not to do that, but it was impossible. Panic hit him as he realized that they were already loaded and bringing their rifles to the ready. He wanted to run, but he knew that there was nowhere to go and he would merely be shot in the back. Would it matter? He would certainly be pierced through the heart by a bullet.
The taste in his dry mouth was worse than before. He could not swallow. He was certain that he was no longer breathing, but the thundering rhythm of his heart let him know that he was still alive as he heard the Spanish commander give the order to fire, just as he was bringing his musket to the ready. He could feel a ball coming toward his chest. He knew that he would soon feel it tearing through him and yet, all he heard was the report of the enemy muskets and again the sound of bees passing by him. He waited, making certain that he was indeed still alive and standing and then heard the order of his own commander to fire. Again, he picked out a broad chest before him and fired. This time, he was certain that he saw the man go down. He knew that his musket ball had scored a hit and he saw the surprised face of the Spanish soldier in the brief instant of realization that he had been hit before he crumbled.
