1882: Custer in Chains (27 page)
Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
And add to that the fact that the public was outraged by the way the war was going and the situation was volatile. Marches had taken place in a number of cities as pro-war and anti-war adherents shouted their opinions. Groups carrying banners paraded and shouted. No one was shocked to see numbers of women involved in the marching. The women wanted the war over and their men returned home. On a number of occasions, the marches had become violent and more than a dozen had been killed rioting in New York and Boston.
“I wish Kendrick had kept the interview quiet,” Blaine muttered. “At least until we could have read it first and been prepared for the uproar.”
Kendrick’s interview with Custer had become public. It had been sold to scores of newspapers, garnering the reporter large amounts of money and several book offers. He was becoming rich in absentia and would be given a hero’s welcome when he too returned home.
“He’s a reporter,” said Arthur, “what the devil did you expect? Actually, reporters are the devil, or at least people who have sold their souls to the devil.”
Blaine didn’t think that the comment was funny at all. “The President of the United States is sitting there drunk as a lord while a prisoner of the Spanish. He says he has no confidence in the commanding general, and would like someone to send him some Kentucky bourbon. Jesus, what the hell is this country coming to?”
“At least he’s alive and well,” responded Libbie Custer in a soft and muted voice that was totally uncharacteristic of her. Her eyes were sunken and her complexion gray. She looked like a woman in mourning, which she was. She was slowly becoming reconciled to the inescapable fact that her beloved husband would not be returning for quite a while. And worse, when he did return, scorn would be heaped upon him. As president, Custer had committed several unforgivable sins. He had left the country and the public was not accepting the theory that he had still been in the United States by virtue of being on the
Dolphin
. His political enemies had argued that the
Dolphin
had been in Spanish or Cuban waters and could not have been in sovereign American territory. Legally, they might be wrong, but the public’s ire was up. Then, Custer had managed to get himself captured and was being held in a Havana prison and appeared to be spending his time in a drunken stupor. The shame to the United States was almost palpable.
George Armstrong Custer’s rash and idiotic behavior had embarrassed the United States in the eyes of the world. In Kendrick’s article, the president had said that he wanted to return so he could again take over. The consensus was that he was deluding himself.
Libbie stood. “It would have been far better if he had been killed at the Little Big Horn. At least then he would have died a hero instead of rotting in a prison. Custer’s Last Stand would have been on a hill in the Dakotas with a gun in his hand, and not on a couch in a Havana apartment with a bottle of rum in his hand.”
With that, she sobbed and swept out of the room.
“I generally find it hard feeling sorry for her,” said Arthur. “She’s always been conniving on her husband’s behalf and now it’s come back to hit her in the face.”
Blaine simply nodded. He too had written off President Custer as a serious contender for the presidency the next election. He’d begun thinking that he could stymie Chester Arthur’s ambitions at the next Republican convention if he could get Libbie Custer on his side. For the first time in her life, the marvelously attractive and sensuous woman was scared and vulnerable. Better, she was a sympathetic presence. She didn’t have to denounce her dunce of a husband, merely announce how much she was depending on James G. Blaine to lead the country out of this terrible dilemma. President Custer might be despised by the public, but his grieving almost-widow could strike a sympathetic chord among delegates at the next Republican Convention.
Blaine was reasonably happily married to his wife Harriet, but he would not be above seducing Libbie Custer if it could help his political ambitions. Nor did the seduction have to be in the physical sense, although that would be marvelous. Many times he had imagined her naked and beneath him. He thought that many in Washington had imagined the same thing. No, all he had to do was get her under his control and get her to speak and act as he wished her to. Who knows, he thought, she might actually be a widow in the very near future.
A very young aide entered bearing a message. He looked in confusion as to who should get it. As Blaine seethed, Arthur waved the boy over and took the paper, again taking command. The vice president read it and nodded. He looked at his pocket watch. “It is nearly noon and word has been received that the Spanish are again attacking our positions in force.”
“Damn it to hell,” said Blaine.
“I have also been informed that General Sheridan along with former General Winfield Scott Hancock will be arriving shortly.”
Blaine was astonished. “Who the devil invited them?”
Arthur smiled tolerantly. “As Commanding General of the United States Army, I don’t believe that Philip Sheridan requires an invitation to give us his sage advice and counsel. However and to set your mind at ease, I requested both men to come here. As to Hancock’s being present, I’m certain you can guess why.”
* * *
Maria Garcia watched in horror as the ragged column of fifty or so dusty soldiers and conscripts came down the path towards her house. Others in her small village had already run inside and closed their doors. They would watch through the openings in the walls that they called windows, but they would not interfere. That would be pointless and dangerous.
The Spaniards’ presence could mean only one thing. Her only surviving son, her baby, was going to be taken away and turned into a soldier. For an instant she thought about telling Manuel to run like the wind and hide. But where would he go? The soldiers were already fanning out as if expecting the sixteen-year-old boy to flee. It was apparent that the Spanish soldiers had done this before. Nor could she ask help from his father. He was dead and she was alone.
A heavyset corporal walked up to her. He was sweating profusely but kept his uniform buttoned in an attempt to look professional. “Please tell Manuel Garcia to come out and bring with him what belongings he wishes to take with him. He is about to have the honor of becoming a soldier of Spain.”
“What honor?” she snapped. “You will have him fighting his fellow Cubans or, worse, the Americans. If you take him I will never see him again.”
The corporal looked genuinely saddened. “Señora, no one can tell what might happen in time of war. All I do know is that he is to become a soldier of Spain and he will be one of many to be on the lookout for an American landing.”
“And what will he do if they come, throw rocks at them? Are you going to teach him to shoot a gun, fire a cannon?” She reached out and tugged at his arm. “Corporal, if you leave without him, tonight I will let you come to my bed.”
The corporal blinked. Señora Garcia was a fine looking and mature woman with a full ripe figure. She breathed deeply and he thought her breasts would rip through the fabric of her blouse and her nipples, clearly outlined, seemed to be calling to him.
“I would dearly love to, kind lady, but the lieutenant who is picking his nose and riding that horse is an ass and he will not let that happen. Your son is coming with us. If he decides to run, we have dogs that will run him down and tear at his flesh. Is that what you wish?”
It was not. She sagged and called her son out on the handful of planks that served as a porch. The boy emerged and blinked in the sunlight. He was tall for his age but very thin. The others in the column looked on, bored. They had seen this vignette play out many times before.
Maria put her hand on her son’s shoulder and squeezed. “I want you to get your best clothing. There is no point in your going off to war looking like someone who has already lost one.”
The boy nodded and started to turn away. The corporal stopped him. “Do not do that, señora. Dress him in rags, the dirtiest clothes you can find. Otherwise, anything he has that is worth something will be stolen before tomorrow’s dawn.”
“He’s right,” said the boy, finally speaking. “And I will not wear shoes or boots. My feet are tough enough to handle the roads.”
“Can you read or write?” asked the corporal.
“Yes,” he said.
“Excellent. Then I will tell the lieutenant that you would make a fine clerk. He has been looking for one for a while. Only don’t let him put his hand on your ass, unless, of course, you like that sort of thing.”
It didn’t take long for Manuel to gather his meager possessions and join the straggly column. Maria waved the corporal over. “Will he be able to send letters?”
The corporal nodded solemnly. His heart was not in these actions which were little more than kidnappings. “He will write, and I will ensure that they are mailed properly. I will do everything I can to also ensure his safety.”
“What is your name, Corporal?”
“Carlos Menendez, señora, and I have been a soldier of Spain for almost twenty years. I became a soldier because there was no other route open to me, just as there isn’t now for your son. I was ragged and hungry and now I have at least the semblance of a uniform although the food has been lacking lately.”
“Is this what you enlisted to do?”
“No, señora, I wanted to be a soldier, not a thief of children.”
“Then why don’t you desert and join the rebels?”
Menendez looked around to see if anyone was paying any attention to him. They weren’t. “Because I am Spanish and the rebels would likely chop me into little pieces before I had a chance to explain myself. But trust me, I will do what I can to protect your boy. The army is building a small fort at Santa Cruz del Norte. It is where the lieutenant will put him and where he will be the lieutenant’s clerk. It will be well away from any battlefield.”
Maria nodded gratefully and lightly rested her hand on his arm. “Then show up here shortly after dark and bring some rum and a loaf of bread. Despite the uniform you wear, you appear to be a decent man and I will need some comforting this night, perhaps a lot of comforting.”
◆
Chapter 15
◆
W
hen the first shell smashed through the wall of the army’s hospital in the church of San Charles de Borromeo, Sarah’s first thought was that a horrible mistake had been made. Artillery shells had been known to go in wrong directions. Perhaps, she thought, this was the case. No one would intentionally bombard a church or a hospital, would they?
When the second and third shells slammed into the building, sending glass and plaster along with chunks of stone raining down on them, the nurses realized it was no mistake.
As always, Clara Barton took charge. “Gather everyone and everything you can carry and get down to the waterfront.”
No one needed urging. Shells were falling all around the hospital and smashing into other buildings. Men were running for their lives to find safety in trenches, while horses screamed in panic. One was hit and disemboweled by a shell. It howled like a demon on fire before it died.
There were only a dozen or so patients in the hospital and most of these were able to get out under their own power. The handful remaining were helped or carried by staff and volunteers out to the trenches.
“I’m getting very tired of this,” said Ruta as she settled into the relative safety of the trench’s earthen walls.
“I’m not arguing with you,” Sarah responded. Her arms were full of medical supplies.
A company of soldiers ran past them and inland in the general direction of the front. Rifle fire, along with the incessant cannonading, had commenced. The war had finally come to them.
Clara Barton jumped into the trench with them. “We are going to split up. I’m going to take half of my people up to the entrance to the bay, while you, Ruta, will take the remainder towards Mount Haney.”
“Then we’re losing, aren’t we?” asked Sarah.
“Indeed and quite badly. The Spanish are attacking all along the line, but it does look like they are concentrating on splitting our forces in half.” Barton smiled briefly. “And yes, it does look like your General Ryder was correct after all, not that it matters right now. Our job is to get the wounded taken care of and our own people into places of safety.”
With that, Barton clambered out of the trench with surprising alacrity and, hunched over, ran away with several of her medical personnel.
Ruta was the natural leader of the others. She got all of the remaining medical personnel and the handful of wounded out of the trench and towards the waterfront. Along the way, they passed another company-sized unit of American infantry running towards the sound of gunfire that appeared to be much closer.
As they inched towards what they hoped would be safety, numbers of soldiers suddenly swarmed passed them, running the other direction. Their officers screamed at them to form up and get ready to fight, but too many were wide-eyed with terror.
Ruta grabbed Sarah’s arm. “Look over there.”
Sarah did as she was told and gasped in shock. A mob of several hundred Spanish soldiers was heading towards them. They were howling and screaming in insane fury. They had broken through the despised Americans, and their bloodlust was up. If the nurses didn’t hurry, they’d wind up as prisoners if they were lucky. The Spanish could easily simply rape them and butcher them in their insane fury. Even the best and most disciplined soldiers could lose their minds in battle and the Spanish were neither the best nor the most disciplined. In the distance, they could see other waves of Spaniards heading towards other targets. The sounds of the battle were overwhelming and terrifying.
“Run!” yelled Sarah. The women dropped everything. They hiked up their skirts and ran as fast as they could. Bullets whizzed and pinged around them. One of the nurses screamed and fell over. Her arm was twisted and bleeding.
“Carry her,” ordered Ruta. There was no time for a tourniquet. If she bled to death there was nothing they could do.
Another nurse fell over. The top of her head was gone. This cannot be happening, thought Sarah. We’re nurses. We aren’t soldiers. The Geneva Convention is supposed to protect us. How could human beings do such terrible things to each other? This was far worse than anything she’d yet seen.
The Spanish were only a little more than a hundred yards away when several of them buckled and fell. A number of Americans in wide-brimmed cowboy hats pushed by the nurses, knelt, and continued to fire. Each bullet seemed to strike a Spaniard, with the officers being the favored targets.
The Spanish lost their enthusiasm and took cover. “Now follow me,” said Haney, “and don’t look back or delay or anything. Just run like your bloomers are on fire.”
Despite the insanity of the situation, Sarah found herself laughing. My bloomers cannot be on fire, she thought. I’m not wearing bloomers.
They ran for a couple of hundred yards and then paused. The soldiers who’d saved them were identified as Texans by Haney, who said that they were really good shots. They moved through gaps in barbed wire and were then escorted over trenches that were filled with American soldiers. More Americans moved through the defenses and to safety. Cannons fired over their heads and they heard the chatter of Gatling guns. Sarah took a moment to see what was happening and wished she hadn’t. Shells were exploding over and within the Spanish ranks, shredding and dismembering bodies. War is hell and never forget that awful fact, she reminded herself.
An American gunboat in the bay found that the Spanish were within range and added to the thunderous din with her cannons. The air was filled with smoke and debris. The nurses were walking now and not running. Their breath still came in gasps. They were exhausted, both emotionally and physically. “There are eight of us,” said Ruta, “and that includes Nurse Atkins who probably will lose her arm. Carmody is dead and there will be no attempt to retrieve her body. Perhaps it can be done if a flag of truce is initiated. Otherwise, we will not risk anyone.”
The nurses were moved into a sandbagged bunker where they could rest. Sarah thought she had seen Martin farther up on the hill, but she wasn’t certain. The sound of gunfire came from the inland side of the hill as well. She was certain that Martin was far too busy to check on her. He would find her in due course. In the meantime they would all rest and figure out where they could set up a hospital where the Spanish wouldn’t destroy it.
* * *
Colonel Gilberto Salazar still walked with difficulty. The wound to his groin was healing but exquisitely slowly. As the men of his Legion moved up the hill that both sides were now calling Mount Haney, he was forced to fall behind. He didn’t mind that at all. Let other brave fools get killed.
His attack was going to fail and in that failure lay success. It was conceded that the American fortifications on Mount Haney were too strong to take by storm. They would require a steady and deadly pounding by heavy artillery the Spanish Army didn’t have. These would have to be followed by a further assault by huge numbers of well-trained infantry, which Spain also did not have. No, the job of his Legion was to demonstrate and pretend to attack, holding the Americans in position so that the main force under General Weyler could storm through the American center and split the Yankee force in half.
For this demonstration, Salazar had been given command of four other regiments, all understrength and poorly trained. Since he didn’t want his own men killed in a useless gesture, he had the new regiments lead while his legion acted as a tactical reserve. As the soldiers neared the hated barbed wire, American rifles and machine guns opened up. Only a few cannons fired at them and it occurred to him that the American defenders were shifting their cannons to better cover the attack on their middle.
Soldiers fell in heaps, but not his best men. When it was apparent that the attack was not going to succeed, he ordered them all to lie prone and shoot at the entrenched Americans. Even this was futile. After only a few minutes, his men began to fall back. Some of the officers tried to stop them, but too many joined in the retreat.
Cowardly bastards, he cursed, conveniently ignoring the fact that he’d held back. Finally, a message arrived authorizing the retreat that was already occurring. It said that the attack on the middle was a complete success and that hundreds, if not thousands, of Americans were dead, wounded, or captured.
Even though they were retreating, all around him men were cheering. They had singed the beard of Uncle Sam, and better, Salazar hadn’t gotten hurt. Another messenger brought him word that General Weyler was very pleased with the way his men had pinned down the Americans on the hill and kept them from counterattacking. Weyler confirmed Salazar’s rank as colonel. No longer was he a temporary colonel. Perhaps even his scrawny slut of a wife would be proud of him.
As he headed back to his quarters, he noticed that he wasn’t limping as much. Tonight he would go into the village where Helga was ensconced. He smiled at the thought of her servicing his manhood with her marvelous lips. Thank God he could be certain of her loyalty and love towards him. He could count on her, not like his cold bitch of a wife. Helga was a hundred times more woman than Juana, and if that American reporter wanted to fuck her, well he could have her. Salazar laughed as he wondered if Kendrick’s cock would freeze inside her and fall off. He thought it more than likely.
* * *
It was almost dawn before Ryder felt confident enough in the security of his men’s position to take a break and lie down. He’d been up almost all night shifting men and units into positions and helping sight cannons so they could fire down into the newly developing Spanish lines below Mount Haney. At dawn a truce would be in effect to help gather up the dead and wounded from both sides. The cries and moans coming from the wounded tore at all of them, but they were gradually fading away as men either died of their wounds or were carried away by comrades taking advantage of the darkness and an unofficial truce to sneak out and help them.
Ryder slipped out of his tunic and shirt and managed to wipe himself somewhat clean with a rag and a pitcher of water. He closed his eyes and immediately went to sleep. When he awoke, it was midday and he cursed angrily.
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” said Sarah as she pushed him back on the cot. “The world did not end while you were resting. Your soldiers will get the wrong idea and think you’re a violent man who likes to swear. Everything’s under control, Martin. Both sides are licking their wounds.”
He looked around and continued to wake up. They were in the back room of his quarters and a blanket had been hung to give him some privacy from the office part. “We shouldn’t be alone like this.”
“I’m a nurse and Ruta’s just outside with a couple of other nurses. The wounded are all taken care of, so don’t worry about your men being neglected. They will think I’m treating you for some malady or minor injury. And besides, we don’t have enough privacy to really get into trouble. By the way, you look terrible. You won’t be too much use to your men if you’re too sick and hungry to lead them.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Not for one second. Now be still and kiss me.”
He pulled her down to him and they kissed hungrily, passionately. When she finally pulled back, she looked down on him with tenderness and sadness. “I’m going to shock you, Martin. I want to go someplace lovely and private and make love to you and it won’t matter if we’re married or not. I’ve decided that life is too short and death too violent and close by to waste on ceremonials.”
“Funny, but I was thinking pretty much the same thing. I wasn’t shocked, though. Frankly, I’m delighted.”
She poured some water into a bowl and began to clean off his chest and arms. “You’re filthy and this water isn’t that much cleaner.”
“I just tried to clean up,” he said.
She left and returned with a fresh pitcher. “With what? Mud? You need to get used to doing a better job if you want to get me in your bed. I will not have a filthy lover.”
“I’ll work on it,” he said and gasped. He was becoming thoroughly aroused as she rinsed off his bare chest. From the way Sarah was biting her lip, he thought that she was too. “Perhaps you could just come here several times a day and take care of my personal hygiene needs.”
She laughed. “It appears that your needs have nothing to do with hygiene. Speaking of which, have you noticed how dirty and tattered my nurse’s uniform is? Of course you have. Now look at this.” She pulled her dress up well above her knees. He wanted to gape at her lovely and shapely legs but he couldn’t. The dark stockings she was wearing were torn almost to shreds. “All of us are wearing clothing that is at least as bad as this.”
Martin sat up. The romantic interlude was over, at least for the moment. “I’ve seen beggars who were better dressed. What do you want me to do?”
“Unless you can get us ladies some appropriate women’s wear, we would like you to order the quartermaster to issue us men’s uniforms, size small, very small if they have any such thing. If not, we will tailor what we can get to our needs.”
“It’s irregular, but so is the idea of having you here in the first place. Consider it done. But what will Clara Barton think?”
She leaned down and kissed him longingly, for a moment letting her tongue wander with his. “I don’t much care what Clara Barton thinks,” she said when they broke and could talk. “She can solve her own problems.”
Sarah ran her hand down his chest and stomach and lightly over his pants and the very obvious swelling hiding beneath the cloth. “Just remember, my very dear General, that the suddenly lusty Widow Damon needs you and craves you very much, so stay safe.”
* * *
Pleased and confident, Winfield Scott Hancock, former major general in the Union Army and 1880 Democratic candidate for President of the United States, formally presented himself to Blaine, Arthur, and the others. Libbie Custer was not present. She could not bear to be in the same room as the man who had run against her beloved husband and had almost beaten him. Left unsaid was the thought that a President Hancock wouldn’t have gotten the U.S. in the terrible mess that the war in Cuba had become.