1882: Custer in Chains (32 page)
Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
He watched in approval as two American cannons were wheeled into position. From their flags, he discerned that a brigade was arrayed behind them. Good. The messages had gotten through. Someone in the Spanish lines must be swearing at his bad fortune.
The cannons fired and after a couple of ranging shots, shells began to land in the Spanish defenses, shredding trees and shrubs, and destroying the Spanish trenches and barricades. Something exploded in the Spanish lines and he could hear the screams of the wounded. The bombardment lasted about half an hour and then the Americans began to move towards what Diego could see were shattered Spanish ranks. The Spaniards were melting away. Officers frantically tried to stop them, but it was like stopping the rain. Outgunned and outnumbered, the Spanish had no more fight in them.
Valdez turned to where his men were waiting and watching. Less than two hundred yards away, the Spaniards were streaming down the road. His men were grinning expectantly.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he laughed. “Kill them. Only remember to take prisoners. The Americans don’t like it when we massacre all our enemies, no matter how much they deserve it.”
His men howled their pleasure and began firing into the fleeing Spaniards, many of whom were their Cuban brethren. Tough, he thought. Even though they were likely unwilling conscripts, they were still the enemy. The fight for a free Cuba had long ago become the worst kind of civil war.
Some Spaniards tried to fire back at their new tormentors, but when a few were cut down, the others began to back away. His men hadn’t practiced enough to be good shots, but they still caused damage and these Spanish began to run. All control and discipline had been lost.
“Chase them,” Valdez howled and his men surged forward screaming. Because of a chronic shortage of ammunition, rebel General Gomez had urged his men to fire one shot and then run at the Spaniards with their machetes. They’d done it before and the effect on the Spaniards was shattering. Nobody wanted to be chopped to pieces.
The remaining Spanish soldiers dropped their arms and held up their hands, screaming for mercy. A few of Diego’s soldiers forgot their orders and shot and hacked at their enemies until he and his few officers got control. He counted casualties. Of his men, there were four wounded and none seriously. A score of Spanish were dead and a number of others were wounded. The Americans had seen the fighting and had stopped their own firing.
He pointed at the bodies of those who’d been slaughtered. “Drag those away and hide them. I don’t want the Americans thinking that we’re a bunch of savages.”
Valdez’s men laughed as if he’d just said the funniest thing in the world. A few moments later, the American General Chamberlain, a pale man with a drooping mustache, shook his hand and congratulated him on a job well done.
When the general disappeared, he took Maria’s hand and smiled at her. Tonight they would make desperate love on a blanket a little ways away from his camp. He had promised her that he would liberate and destroy the despicable concentration camps like the one she’d escaped from.
* * *
Secretary of State James G. Blaine could see all his ambitions for the presidency and the existence of an overseas American Empire being flushed ignominiously down the toilet. He looked into the sad eyes of Libbie Custer and wished he truly could reach out and comfort her. Sadly, she had made it clear to one and all that she was totally dedicated to rescuing her husband and resuming their lives together. Not that he would have tried, of course, but she was so achingly lovely. Whatever had she seen in her impetuous husband? He banished the thoughts from his brain. He was married and loved his wife. He would only see the White House when he was a guest, as he was now.
“I do understand the irony, Mr. Blaine. When my husband is rescued it will be because of the efforts of his main political rivals, Winfield Scott Hancock and Chester A. Arthur. And I do understand that it might propel either Hancock or Arthur into the White House. According to the newspapers, Hancock has skillfully merged both former Union and Confederate soldiers into one army, a remarkable achievement. It also appears that he will be besieging Havana in short order. However, he doesn’t have enough men to properly invest Havana, and he will not get any significant reinforcements.”
Blaine nodded and put down his tea. They were in her private residence in the White House. The servants were present but discreetly out of hearing. “All of which means that this war could drag on and on,” he said. “Sooner or later, Hancock must either storm the city or wait for his men to catch the fever and die. Fortunately, the fevers have not been severe this year, at least not yet.”
“At least we have taken Puerto Rico without serious incident.”
Marine Commandant Colonel Charles G. McCawley had scraped together the equivalent of a regiment from various ships’ crews and, along with fresh enlistments, had landed outside San Juan while under the cover of American gunboats. The conquest had been almost totally bloodless, with only one Marine killed and four wounded. McCawley and the Marines were the nation’s newest heroes. Perhaps a score of Spaniards had fallen in the conquest of Puerto Rico.
“And, dear lady, the Marines will soon reembark and be sent to Cuba. They will be replaced in Puerto Rico by our militia who will do nothing more than occupy that peaceful and lovely little place. There is the remote possibility that we will be able to gather up the equivalent of another brigade by combining the Marines and a Negro cavalry regiment. The cavalry will fight dismounted, of course. Barring a miracle, we will not be able to ship and supply very many horses. Or men, for that matter.”
“Yet we must win. Or do you feel constrained because of the actions of Congress?”
Blaine tried to hide his annoyance but failed. Cuban rebel spokesman Fidel Cardanzo had spoken with him on several occasions about his visions for the future of Cuba and they did not include a new Cuba as a permanent province or territory of the United States. No, the Cuban rebels wanted independence and they wanted it immediately. The idea of turning over such an island jewel as Cuba to the rag-tag and largely black rebels disgusted him. They needed much more help before they could rule a country on their own.
As usual, Congress was confused with some members wanting a permanent takeover of the Spanish possession, while others said that the U.S. should maintain sovereignty over the island for a set amount of time, approximately four years after victory. This seemed to be the idea that, in some form, would carry. Cardanzo and the rebels would protest, but if there was a date certain by which the U.S. would leave, then perhaps they would be satisfied. The Cuban rebels’ leader, Jose Marti, had spent a considerable amount of time wooing various members of Congress and had largely succeeded. Cuba would not be a permanent part of an American empire, and that infuriated Blaine.
At a slightly different level, there were negotiations with Cardanzo regarding giving American merchants preferred status when Cuba was liberated. Additionally, the U.S. Navy required land for bases and coaling stations when the war was finally concluded. Cardanzo, speaking for Jose Marti and others, had made it clear that using Havana for anything other than the incidental presence of American warships was not negotiable. Other sites, however, were acceptable as potential permanent bases. Matanzas was an obvious locale, but there were thoughts that Santiago, on the other side and east of Havana, would be better. The farther away from Havana the better, they said. Out of sight, out of mind with the American fleet, went the thought.
There were rumors of a superb anchorage to the east of Santiago at a place called Guantanamo. That had to be checked out. In a few years, only American footholds would remain in Cuba.
Libbie smiled tolerantly. “You are a very unhappy man, and that is a shame. I am truly sorry that you will not see the presidency in this lifetime.”
Blaine smiled bleakly. She was lying through her teeth. She was thrilled that his ambitions had been thwarted. And to think he once thought of her as a potential ally. He stood, leaned over, and kissed her hand. “Perhaps I shall be reincarnated as a Roman emperor and could rule by decree. Perhaps that is truly more my style.”
* * *
The meeting between Gilberto Salazar and Monsignor Bernardi had been tense. The governor-general had given them their orders, however, and they were determined to carry them out. Salazar’s legion, now down to only a hundred men, would be reconstituted by volunteers called to action by the rabid exhortations of Bernardi.
The small Italian priest had a booming voice and the wild eyes of a fanatic. He called upon the faithful to rise up and drive the Protestant invaders out of Cuba, totally ignoring the fact that many of the Americans were Catholics, especially those from Ireland. He raged that the Americans would destroy statues of the Virgin and sexually assault nuns. His speeches were given as sermons during Mass, or in parks or on street corners. Wherever anyone gathered in the name of Jesus, he said, there he would preach. To his own annoyance, he was only moderately successful, and primarily because most of the men now in Havana were already in a military unit. Those few who weren’t in the army tended to be too old, too young, or too infirm.
With considerable effort, the two men managed to gather up enough men to bring Salazar’s Legion up to a thousand men, although many were not prime soldier material. Arming them was not a problem. The land outside Havana was littered with abandoned rifles as a large part of the army had thrown them away and simply disappeared.
Regardless of their physical limitations, the new recruits burned with zeal. They wanted nothing more than to hurl themselves at either the Americans or the Cuban rebels, and if they were killed in the effort, even better. They yearned to be martyrs.
On reviewing them, Governor-General Villate had said that their intensity reminded him of some Moslem sects he’d fought against while commanding Spanish forces in Africa. Martyrdom, he’d said, was a Moslem goal that they cherished. Salazar had no idea what sects he was talking about. If his recruits wanted to kill themselves for the glory of God while he got the glory of victory, then that was wonderful. Salazar wanted victory and survival. Martyrdom was for fools.
◆
Chapter 18
◆
R
yder stiffened and came to attention when he saw General Hancock approaching. As always, the commander of the U.S. forces in Cuba was impeccably dressed, which made Martin feel more than a little dirty since his uniform hadn’t been cleaned in a while. To make matters worse, he and Lang had just spent some time crawling on their bellies to get a good look at the Spanish defenses. A very solemn Nelson Miles followed Hancock. It looked to Ryder that Miles still hadn’t gotten over being supplanted as commander of the American forces. Generals Crook and Gibbon lagged behind, amiably talking to each other.
The grueling advance from Matanzas to the outskirts of Havana was finally over. It had taken two long weeks to get the army out of its original base and down the narrow and inadequate coastal road. At spots, the road had been little more than a trail and the Spaniards had set a number of ambushes. These had either been brushed aside or there had been some brief but serious fighting. Regardless, it had taken time and blood to move the fifty or so miles to Havana.
Hancock returned Martin’s salute. “Good to see you, but I thought I’d be meeting with Benteen.”
“He’s sick, General. He asked me to fill in for him.”
Hancock shrugged as if to say it wasn’t all that important who he met with. “How ill is he? Please tell me it’s not the fever.”
For some reason, the dreaded fevers had not hit the American army in force, at least not yet. Both sides were holding their breath, awaiting the murderous and mysterious disease that most people thought was caused by breathing the dank and stinking swampy air. Some thought the fever was caused by tiny, invisible organisms called germs, but there was disagreement about that theory. Ryder briefly wondered what Sarah or her father thought about the idea of germs.
“Apparently it’s not the fever, General. The doctors think it’s something he ate and he should be up in a few days.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think the doctors have a clue as to what’s wrong with him. All anyone knows is that he can only get out of bed to crap and puke. Since we’ve broken out of Matanzas, there’s a lot of commerce between us and sympathetic locals and that includes eating some pretty strange and spicy food.”
Hancock laughed. “Then we’ll let him rest and purge himself of his sins. Come with me, I want to talk with you.”
With Hancock leading, they walked to a slight rise where they could view the raw scars that were the earthen Spanish embankments that ran from the Caribbean to Havana’s inner harbor. Through their telescopes they could see that the enemy ramparts bristled with armed men as the American army deployed for a battle that was not going to come this day. Behind the Spanish walls, and out of artillery range, a number of wooden observation towers had been built.
“Are you impressed?” Hancock asked.
“Not really,” said Martin. “It’s a far cry from the triple walls of ancient Byzantium that I’d read about or even the Confederate works at Petersburg, and I did see what’s left of those. With enough guns and time we could pound the place to pieces even though they still outnumber us.”
“But that would take far too long and we don’t have the time. Despite the fact that we are landing and installing howitzers and heavy mortars to bombard the fortifications, we must bring things to a head before this degenerates into a long and fruitless siege. Remember that Byzantium wasn’t taken for a thousand years and Petersburg’s siege lasted about a year. No, there will be no lengthy siege. We cannot afford it. The American people want this war over.”
Ryder wondered just why he and the absent Benteen had been being singled out but kept quiet. He looked skyward to where an American observation balloon looked down on Havana from several hundred feet above the ground. The brave soul in the balloon had a much better view of Havana than did the Spaniards in their wooden towers.
Hancock shielded his eyes and also looked at the contraption. “Is it true that a photographer is up there?”
Ryder grinned. “The estimable William Pywell is indeed up there. He’s trying to get panoramic pictures of the coming battle. So far the gondola has jiggled too much to get a good clear photo of anything. I spoke to him last night and he says today will be his last try. After that, he may try building his own observation tower. He hopes that it will be a steadier platform.”
“All journalists and photographers are crazy, Martin, only you didn’t hear that from me.”
An explosion boomed and they all turned to watch a mortar shell arc high into the sky and fall behind the walls of Havana. A second later, the shell exploded, sending a cloud of debris into the air.
“A ranging shot,” sniffed Hancock. “I very much doubt that it hit anything important. Tell me, Martin, have you ever seen a Masai warrior kill a lion?”
“Can’t say as I have, sir.”
“Well, neither have I. But I do have it on good authority that a young Masai warrior is sent out onto the African plains or veldt armed with only a short stabbing spear and a pair of huge balls between his legs. It’s a rite of passage and they must kill a lion with nothing but their cunning and that little spear in order to become a warrior. They stalk the beast, get very close, and ram the spear into the heart of the lion, killing him instantly. At least that’s the plan. A miss, of course, could prove fatal to the hunter as the lion is not likely to allow the young lad a second chance.”
A second shell crashed and exploded. Martin wondered just where the general’s musings were going. He did have the uncomfortable feeling that they might involve him.
Hancock saw the dismay on Ryder’s face and smiled. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of sending anyone out to storm Havana with a small spear. What I
do
want is to attack and go straight for the heart. They have too many men for us to attack at more than one point and be successful. The Spanish may be poorly led and poorly trained, but even inferior soldiers might do well if ensconced behind the perceived security of a wall. Ergo, we must get them
away
from that wall. What I propose to do is to launch a violent attack at a narrow point, like a spear, break through, and wreak havoc in their rear. It would be somewhat like Alexander the Great did in his battles against larger enemy armies—go for the heart or, if you wish, the jugular.”
Ryder smiled wanly. “And I presume this involves me.”
“Indeed. Unfortunately, it is the price of your successes. The attack will be spearheaded by Benteen’s division and further led by your brigade. I am confident that you will succeed. You have proven yourself a skillful and resourceful leader and fighter. I am also confident that you will plan well and accomplish all this with a minimum of casualties.”
By way of emphasis, another mortar landed behind the enemy lines. This time something other than the shell exploded, and men all around began to cheer as clouds and flames billowed. “Probably ammunition,” said Hancock and then looked sheepish. What else could it have been?
Hancock continued. “It will take a couple of weeks to gather our forces and we will try to confuse the Spanish by first shelling various places along the line. While I would never underestimate an enemy, I am confident that Generals Weyler and Villate are under orders from Havana to defend everything. If they do that, of course, they will wind up defending nothing.”
Ryder wondered just how Hancock was so certain about the orders Villate and Weyler had. Spies must be everywhere, he concluded.
Hancock continued, “What I plan to do is build a rail line that largely parallels their defenses and move cannons up and down it by way of trains, even firing big guns from the rail cars. With luck, that’ll keep the Spaniards chasing their tails. Then we stop when and where we wish and your men get to lead the attack. Tell me, General, do you have any thoughts as to how you will get your men safely over those walls?”
Ryder smiled grimly. “Frankly, sir, I’d been thinking along those lines and I do have some ideas.”
Hancock smiled. “I’m not surprised. Well then, why not firm them up and then we’ll talk again. By the way, when the time for the big attack comes, you will not be alone. There will be additional mischief afoot. The Navy insists on coming along for the ride and causing at worst a major distraction that will further confuse and demoralize our enemies.”
Hancock turned and saw Ruta Holden standing a short distance away. She looked worried. She was also wearing a brightly colored full-length skirt instead of the cut-down man’s uniform the nurses had been wearing.
The general nodded and smiled affably at her. “Ryder, did you know that churchmen up in the states are outraged that female nurses would dare to go to war wearing men’s clothing? They say it’s lewd and licentious and that only whores would dress as men. Of course, they don’t give a fig that it’s the best, most efficient and even most decent way for a woman to treat a wounded patient. They cannot imagine that a man who’s been seriously wounded would have priorities other than getting a stiff dick and having it serviced. Lord, what fools some mortals be.”
Ryder laughed. Again leaving the confines of Matanzas had paid dividends. The women were actually able to shop in area villages and get women’s clothing. Sarah had purchased several brightly colored Cuban-style dresses, and he thought she looked marvelous in them and much more carnal than when she’d been wearing a man’s army uniform.
“Ryder, why don’t you go and see what that poor woman wants. It doubtless has something to do with your betrothed. You and that other nurse are betrothed, aren’t you?”
Damn, Ryder thought again. Does everyone know about our private lives? “General, I sure as hell hope so.”
* * *
At Ruta’s urging, Martin immediately went to Sarah. He found her in the back of one of the hospital tents and sitting among piles of supplies. Her face was red and it was obvious she had been crying.
Martin sat down beside her and held her hand. She immediately grabbed his with both of hers, pressing hard with surprising strength. “I may be losing my brother. He may be dead as we speak.”
“What happened?”
“What almost always happens when one is wounded on a battlefield. Despite everyone’s best efforts, his wound became infected. I got a telegram that said he’s on his way to Washington where my father can pick him up and give him the personal and sanitary care he couldn’t get in an Army hospital.”
Ryder couldn’t argue with her assessment of the Army’s hospitals. So many doctors were little more than well-intended butchers for whom sanitation was still an undefined word. “Are you going to go to be with him?”
Tears began to spill down her cheeks. “What, and leave you to get into trouble? No. Even though I would like to be at his side, the situation is what I said. He may already be dead. Or he may be recovering, in which case my trip would have been just as futile. My place is here, with you and with the damned army and all the new wounded I’m going to see.”
Ruta was at her accustomed place blocking the entrance to the storeroom. Her back was turned to them, not that he cared if she saw them together. She was, however, preventing anyone else from seeing them. He put his arm around Sarah’s shoulder and pulled her to him. He kissed her gently and planned to stop with that, but she suddenly returned his kiss with an almost savage fervor. Wonderful, he thought, and returned the favor, matching kiss for kiss until they were gasping.
She pushed him back and smiled. Her concerns about her brother were clearly fading. “We have to find a better place to meet than army supply facilities.”
“A bedroom would be nice. By the way, General Hancock referred to us as betrothed. Are we betrothed?”
“Yes, Martin, a bedroom would be ideal and, yes, we are betrothed. I was hoping to wait until we got back to the States before either getting married or consummating our relationship, but I wonder if that is the best course of action. Perhaps we should look into finding someone who would marry us. However, and even though I am only a nominal Protestant like you, I don’t think I want us to be married by a Catholic priest. And further, I don’t want our honeymoon to be in a warehouse unless it’s a very nice warehouse.”
“I understand.”
She stood and straightened her dress. Somehow it had ridden up above her lovely knees. “Good. I feel better now knowing that our wedding is in your capable hands.” She smiled and tenderly kissed him one more time. “Now you have two assignments. You must plan both your battle and our wedding. Good luck, dearest.”
Yes, he thought, and he knew which will be the more difficult—the wedding.
* * *
Kendrick stood on the second floor balcony of Dunfield’s home and stared into the distance where clouds of smoke and fire were being swept by the wind. Small groups of Spanish soldiers ran down the streets. They were out of control and had begun looting and beating civilians. Dunfield had hired a number of men to protect his property and they were heavily armed and visible. The mobs prudently looked for easier pickings. It disturbed Kendrick that somewhere out in the city was Juana’s husband, leading a band of men reputed to be religious fanatics and quite violent. They hadn’t yet made a move towards Dunfield’s estate and Kendrick wondered if it was because of Dunfield’s British connections or because the place was a fortress. Kendrick didn’t doubt that Salazar would eventually make a move.
Behind him and prudently indoors where the mob couldn’t see him, Custer was crowing that the army had finally arrived and was going to rescue him and restore him to the presidency. It could be, Kendrick admitted. But was putting Custer back in the White House the wisest course of action? Yet, what other course of action was there? As long as he lived, Custer was the President of the United States and Chester Arthur was only the acting president. But what if he didn’t live, Kendrick thought and quickly banished it.
He had another thought and decided to ask the question he’d been deferring.
“Mr. President, just who started this bloody war?”
Custer blinked in surprise and laughed when he realized the implications of the question. “Are you accusing me of being so duplicitous as to have caused the massacre on that ship? Not a chance. I may be a merciless bastard and my wife a skilled conniver and Blaine a lying snake, but neither of us betrayed the
Eldorado
and caused that massacre. I’ll admit that we gave it some thought, but we found out that the Spanish already knew everything about the ship, including its crew, cargo, and destination. Hell, they even knew you were going to be on board. What we really thought would happen was that everybody would be taken prisoner, tried, found guilty, and sentenced. Then they would be sent to a jail until ransomed or something diplomatic occurred. Maybe the
Eldorado
’s captain would have been hanged and maybe one or two rebel leaders as well, but that’s the cruel price of a failed rebellion. I have no idea what would have happened to you, but I did think your exalted status as a journalist would have provided you with a degree of safety.”