1882: Custer in Chains (26 page)

Libbie Custer was shaking and again on the verge of hysterics. “You would take away his office?”

Blaine was getting annoyed. “Madam, he isn’t here and he isn’t likely to return anytime soon. And I must again remind you that you are present as a courtesy. You hold no office, either elected or appointed. If you keep this up, I can assure you that we will meet without you and outside of the White House.”

Blaine was further annoyed by the fact that Custer’s foolishness might have propelled Chester Arthur into the White House, and not just as an acting president. He had been hoping that Custer’s incompetence would lead to his not being renominated by the Republican Party in the next election. In that case, he, James G. Blaine, would be honored if they turned to him as their candidate. If Arthur was to turn Custer’s mess into something resembling a victory for himself, he would be a formidable force and might just take that nomination away from him. Blaine could only seethe and plot. Nor could he change the fact that, as vice president
or
acting president, Chester A. Arthur was in charge.

“What is the Army going to do?” Blaine asked of Secretary of War Robert Lincoln.

“Right now, they are waiting for the next Spanish attack,” Lincoln answered. “General Miles is of the opinion that it will come soon and will be a repeat of the attacks on the entrance to the bay and that hill called Mount Haney. I do know that all of his generals do not agree with him. They feel it will come between those two points in an attempt to split the army.”

“And Miles has decided otherwise?” Arthur asked.

“Yes.”

“Jesus,” said the Vice President. “I can only hope he’s right. What is the Navy doing, Mr. Hunt?”

Navy Secretary Hunt was not happy. “Havana is blockaded, but the three Spanish cruisers that escaped have not been located. They could be in any one or more of hundreds of coves and bays. I do not, however, think that they have sailed far or towards the United States. For one thing, they don’t carry enough coal. For another, they just aren’t all that big and dangerous. Nor can they risk incurring even the slightest damage since there is no place they can be repaired. Even so, their existence is scaring the bejeezus out of everyone on the East Coast. We have several dozen armed and hastily armored converted merchant ships outside our major ports. The Navy is confident that they will not be needed, but their presence helps keep the population happy.”

Blaine shook his head sadly. “In short, we have the makings of a stalemate.”

Lincoln disagreed. “Not really. Our army cannot sit there forever. It has to be supplied and reinforced and, all the while, the fever season is coming. All the Spanish have to do is wait and our army might just be destroyed by sickness.”

“Jesus,” said Arthur. “We have got to get Miles and the army moving.”

“And I don’t know if Miles is the man to do it,” said Lincoln and the others nodded agreement, even a solemn Libbie Custer.

The heavy-set Arthur stood and walked ponderously to a window overlooking the lawn. “If Miles cannot drive the army to Havana, we must find a general who can, even if that means thinking the unthinkable.”

Libbie Custer paled. “No. You can’t be serious. It’s bad enough that George is a prisoner of the Spanish, but now you would kill him?”

* * *

Ryder’s headquarters bunker had become a very substantial dwelling. He now had a solid roof and gutters for drainage. Of course, he made sure that all of his men had similar amenities before his was completed. The amount of barbed wire surrounding the hill had more than tripled. Ships from New Orleans and Galveston had brought in miles of it. He was confident that the wire and the other improvements that had been made to the defenses on Mount Haney would make a Spanish assault a very bloody one. Curiously, not all the other senior officers were supporters of using barbed wire because they thought it might detract from their soldier’s offensive fighting spirit. Their loss, Ryder thought, and he then commandeered their share of the wire. If they wouldn’t use it, he would.

Many of the same officers who hated wire also hated machine guns because they encouraged soldiers to use up too much ammunition too quickly. Ryder wondered if they’d forgotten that the purpose of a war was to kill the enemy.

He hated the thought of his men becoming stagnant, but they had done pretty much all they could do without unduly endangering themselves. War against Spain had become exceedingly boring. Now he could sneak down and see Sarah on a reasonably regular basis, confident that he would be informed in plenty of time to react against anything the Spaniards might try. They could even go for walks. Other nurses had also established relationships and Haney was still seeing Ruth, who had begun calling herself Ruta. Some of the soldiers were obviously envious, but there was nothing he could do about that. He was not going to ignore Sarah.

A few civilians had tried to return to Matanzas, but the army was discouraging their presence. Too many of them could be spies.

His regimental commanders were good, and Sarah’s brother was settling in his true position as a staff officer. Ryder sometimes mentally kicked himself for thinking that Jack Barnes had been ready to command a regiment.

If he needed someone to do some fighting, he always had Lang and Haney, along with the Cuban leader, Diego Valdez. The Cuban had at least a thousand men under his command and seemed content to place himself more or less under Ryder’s leadership. Leadership, Ryder thought, not command. No one commanded Valdez, not even the vivacious young lady who was now his mistress, a young widow named Maria Vasquez.

Haney entered and sat down, “Anything new on Custer, General?”

“Of course not, Sergeant, and stop asking silly questions. When something happens, you’ll know it well before anyone else.”

Haney ignored the jab. “And that means that Nelson Miles is paralyzed, doesn’t it? The army isn’t going to move. We’re just going to sit here until either the Spanish overwhelm us or the fevers kill us or both. I thought that Custer had stiffened his spine, but I guess getting captured put a stop to all that.”

Ryder laughed harshly. “It might be getting worse. My scouts say that the Spanish are really building up their strength something fierce and will be ready to attack us in a matter of days.”

“And Miles still won’t reinforce the center? That’s crazy.”

“Don’t call your commanding general crazy. He might be, but you don’t say it, especially where somebody might hear you. According to Benteen, Miles feels he doesn’t have enough men to cover everything. It’s about five miles from the opening of the bay to where we are sitting and he feels that’s too far, especially when you consider that he’d have to defend both sides of the bay.”

“Makes sense,” the sergeant admitted reluctantly.

“So, Benteen has decided that this moldy lump of mud that’s been named after your worthless ass shall be transformed into a citadel. He just informed me that he wants storerooms for food and ammunition and more bunkers for additional soldiers. If we’re pushed away from the bay, he doesn’t want us starving to death or having to throw rocks at the Spaniards. He feels another two thousand men can strengthen this place. He also said he wants a fresh water well dug and seemed shocked when I told him we’d already done it.”

“What about nurses?” Haney asked softly. Ryder was about to say something when he recalled that the sergeant was still very close to Ruta Holden, perhaps just as close as he was to Sarah. No, he thought, they weren’t just as close. He hadn’t gotten Sarah to bed yet, much less made love on a stack of dusty and uncomfortable tents.

“When the time comes, Sergeant, we will do what we have to, even if that includes sending you down the hill on an errand of mercy to save the wounded and the people who take care of them.”

Haney nodded and then grinned. “That works fine for me.”

* * *

Kendrick felt incredibly nervous. Not only was the house where Custer was being kept surrounded by Spanish soldiers, but it was less than a mile from the massive Castillo del Principe, the ominous fortification that had been built nearly a century before. The Principe was the anchor in the reconstructed fortifications protecting Havana and one of several similar but smaller forts in a loose ring around Havana. Kendrick quietly wondered just how the American Army would storm these forts, assuming, of course, that the army ever got off its collective butt and made it to Havana.

Dunfield lived in a Mediterranean-style villa that was not unusual for the Caribbean. Square outer walls built with stone and with few windows made it look like a fortress and Kendrick realized that’s what it could become in a matter of minutes. At the moment, it was a prison as well as a home. The four walls surrounded an inner courtyard in which fountains sprayed water and colorful flowers brightened the scene. It was as if the outer world didn’t exist.

Kendrick was informed that Custer was being kept in a suite of rooms on the second floor. Somewhat gratuitously, he was informed that the window was barred and that guards were in the street below. He would have expected nothing else. He asked if he was expected and the guard, a fat corporal, simply shrugged. He didn’t know and didn’t care. Kendrick asked how Custer was doing.

“He eats, sleeps, shits, and takes walks in the courtyard,” the corporal said.

“Has he said anything to you?”

The corporal shook his head. “He is a rude bastard.”

“Then he hasn’t changed at all,” Kendrick said and the guard, surprised at the candor, actually laughed.

When Kendrick went to open the door, the guard grabbed his arm and halted him. He searched him for weapons, even taking a small pocket knife with a Red Cross on it that he’d bought years ago in Switzerland. He was assured that it would be returned to him when he left. Kendrick had his doubts.

“Please leave the door open, Señor Kendrick. Otherwise we will not interfere with you or listen to your conversation.”

Kendrick thanked the man and tipped him a couple of American dollars, which further improved the corporal’s disposition.

Kendrick entered the suite and blinked in the darkness. “Jesus Christ,” came a familiar voice. “Just when I thought I’d gotten far enough away from you, you pop up again. What the hell have I done to deserve this?”

“Mr. President, you have been a very bad boy and it’s cost me a lot to get to see you in person.”

There was a bottle of Bacardi Rum in Custer’s hand and an empty one was on the floor. It was apparent that the president was in no condition to escape even if his prison was wide open.

“This stuff isn’t bad, Kendrick, you should try it.”

“Some other day, perhaps. So, how are you doing? How are they treating you?”

“Well enough,” Custer said and took a long swallow. “Now, how is my war coming? Has Miles attacked? The sooner he punches through, the sooner I can get the hell out of this glorified prison and go back to running the country.”

“I regret to inform you that Miles appears to have lost what courage you thought you gave him. The army isn’t moving and he is simply waiting for the next Spanish attack.”

“Damn him. What are they doing in Washington?”

“From what I’ve been able to discern, they are trying to figure out who is in charge in your absence. Chester Arthur is the favorite and he will likely go for a change in command. It might not be somebody you like.”

Kendrick had heard no such information. What he was saying had the feel of logic, so he felt comfortable fibbing to Custer. To his surprise, Custer did not seem upset. “There’s not much I can do about that, is there? My one and only goal is to get back to the States and Libbie and take over again. Then I can run any bastard I don’t like out of town. Until then, I am totally irrelevant. It’s like I actually had been killed at the Little Big Horn and sometimes I wish I had.”

Good luck with taking over if he ever did return, thought Kendrick. “Tell me about how you got caught. Commander Blondell and his crew have been exchanged and he’s told everyone that you ordered him to go to Havana against his wishes and that your getting captured is all your fault. Any comment?”

A shrug and another swallow followed by a belch. “Blondell’s a fat little prick but he’s right. I wanted to see Havana and I made him do it. I couldn’t lie about it if I wanted to.”

“Do you favor signing a treaty of peace unfavorable to the U.S. in order to get you out of here?”

“Fuck no. I’m desperate, not crazy. Besides, I’m in no position to dictate any peace terms and no way could I have unfavorable terms ratified by the Senate.”

Kendrick was mildly surprised at Custer’s coherent understanding of the situation. “So you’re willing to stay here for a very long time if necessary?”

“Willing? Hell, Kendrick, I most certainly am
not
willing. On the other hand I have to recognize reality. I’m not going anyplace until there is peace. The next time you slip out of here and back to our lines, you let Libbie, Blaine, Arthur, and anyone else know that I will not be bought and sold like a bushel of corn.”

Kendrick said that he would do just that. He did not inform Custer that he had no plans to leave Havana in the immediate future. No, this is where the big story would be. Either the U.S. would win and Havana would be conquered, or Spain would win and the Spanish empire would be rejuvenated. He would write up his interview and then type it. Juana had access to a new Remington Typewriter and he had taught himself how to use it. The story would be placed in a British diplomatic pouch and go by ship to Florida.

“Besides freeing you, Mr. President, is there anything else I can do?”

Custer eyed the now empty Bacardi bottle. He threw it in a wastebasket. “Yes. I’ve decided I really don’t like this shit. See if you can get me a few dozen cases of bourbon to tide me over until the war ends.”

* * *

Chester Arthur, James Blaine, and the others, including Libbie Custer, did not like referring to themselves as a “junta” or a “cabal” as some of the Washington and New York newspapers were doing. Those terms had sinister undertones and what they were doing was both legal and public, and, of course, necessary. The United States had to be governed and continue to run.