1882: Custer in Chains (29 page)

Ruta agreed. “I think we all have eulogies we’d like to give, but won’t. Carmody wasn’t perfect, but she was here and she was trying her best.”

Sarah agreed. “On the other hand, Nurse Carmody didn’t deserve to die like she did. There’s going to be at least one more battle and it’s entirely possible that some of us might fall. Martin says there’s no way the Spanish can make any guarantees about our safety. We are all jammed in so close here that there is no real safety. We’ve dug caves and bunkers and all that means is that we might be buried alive during a bombardment.”

Ruta sighed. “You are so cheerful today. You and Martin need to be alone for a few minutes to calm yourselves down like Haney and I have been.”

Sarah was astonished. “Have you really managed to be alone with your beloved sergeant up here on this wretched hill? Where on earth did you ever find the time and space for such an encounter?”

Ruta grinned wickedly. “If you have the time you can always find the space. And it doesn’t have to take all that much time. And we’d better get used to not having much space. When the relief army gets here, our forces will almost double. As they say, one should make hay while the sun shines.”

Sarah laughed and made a note to seek out Martin. There was a pause in the fighting as the two sides shifted and jockeyed for advantage. Perhaps they could find a few moments to be alone before Matanzas was even more jammed with American soldiers.

But then she had a thought and she recalled what Martin had said. He had wondered aloud just why everyone thought the relief army was coming to Matanzas.

* * *

General Weyler rode down the line to meet with his senior field officers and made the dramatic announcement that the American reinforcements were on their way. “Our future is spelled out for us. If Cuba is to remain Spanish, then the American force at Matanzas must be expelled. We must defeat the Americans before their reinforcements can land and the two groups unite. We will attack in overwhelming force and ferocity and destroy them.”

He paused dramatically and looked at the assembly. “For King and Spain,” he yelled dramatically. “For King and Spain,” several score voices echoed. It did not escape Weyler’s notice that not everyone had cheered and some of those had been lacking in enthusiasm and lustiness. They were clearly horrified at the thought of again attacking the wire and the machine guns. The guns and the wire had neutralized Spain’s advantage in numbers.

Weyler departed and the group disbanded to return to their units and inspire them to make the ultimate sacrifice required in storming the American fortifications. Gilberto Salazar, however, had that and other things on his mind. Clearly, the two men he’d sent to kill Juana and Kendrick had failed. Either that or they’d taken the money he’d given them in advance and disappeared, which he considered unlikely. He hadn’t given them all that much money. The bulk of the cash was to be their reward when they were successful. Therefore, they had lost in an encounter with whoever was protecting the slut and her lover, and he assumed that it had been Mercedes’ tame bear of a man named Hector Rojas.

It infuriated him that, with the Americans approaching the horizon, there wouldn’t be another opportunity to kill them until the battle and perhaps the war was decided. The bitch would continue to live and spread her skinny legs for Kendrick. Sometimes he recalled that he had started the farce, but he dismissed it. No wife of his would have taken him seriously when he told her to sleep with another man. No, he had been betrayed by her and her lover.

Gilberto had a most pleasant thought. When he was victorious and a hero, he would kill Kendrick with his bare hands and then turn Juana over to his troops and the hell with her uncle the bishop. He was going to burn in hell for all he’d done so what did offending a prince of the church matter?

* * *

George Armstrong Custer took a last sad look at the bottle of rum. There was about an inch in the bottom and instead of swallowing it, he poured it out a window and onto some flowers, belatedly wondering if the alcohol would kill the flowers. In a way he was grateful nobody had been able to get him any bourbon. It would have been wasted. The decision to stop drinking might have been even more difficult.

The imprisoned President of the United States had had an epiphany. The Army was going to free him and it didn’t matter if Winfield Scott Hancock was its commander or not. He was going to be rescued and he didn’t want to be a drunken, dirty sot when it happened. He’d also been having that dream where the Sioux had killed him. He’d been waking up in a soaking sweat and a couple of times he thought he’d screamed out loud. If he stopped drinking himself into a stupor, perhaps the dream would go away.

“I’m done feeling sorry for myself,” he said to his British host.

“I was wondering when that would happen,” Redford Dunfield said with a smile. “And trust me, I didn’t begrudge you one bit for wondering just what the devil had happened to put you in such a predicament.”

“I want to be ready and armed when Hancock arrives with his army. We can at least meet as equals.” Well, almost, he thought. “I am greatly concerned that the Spanish will attempt to move me when that time comes and hold me hostage elsewhere. I cannot permit that to happen, at least not without a hell of a fight; hence the need for at least one weapon, several if you have them.”

“And some clean clothes,” Dunfield said drily. “Quite honestly, you look like hell and you stink to high heaven.”

Custer flushed. He’d already taken stock of himself in a mirror. “Indeed, and I’d like the use of either a razor or the services of a barber if you won’t trust me with anything sharp. And yes, I would like to take a bath as well.”

Dunfield made a mock bow that Custer ignored. “I will send you a barber and not because I don’t trust you. I’m afraid that your hands are a bit shaky and you might just slice yourself to ribbons. I will also send you my tailor with instructions to clothe you appropriately, but not too expensively. I’m sure you’re aware that Her Majesty Queen Victoria is quite close with her money.”

“I will be thankful for whatever you can provide.”

“Since you’re returning to mankind, do you desire female companionship?”

Custer flushed. “Indeed, but unless you can transport Libbie down to me, I don’t think I wish to chance it.” No, he thought, power corrupts and I’ve certainly been corrupted in the past, but not now. “Thank you, but no thank you.”

“By the way, two other people will be moving in and will be under guard but they will not be prisoners. One is Juana Salazar and the second man you know, James Kendrick. I know you despise him, but try to be nice to each other while you’re under my roof.”

Custer smiled wanly. “I know my place. When this is all over, I reserve the right to strangle him.”

On the other hand, Custer thought, if he sees how I am now and how heroically I behave during the coming battle, perhaps he can be a tool in getting back my reputation.

* * *

Two admirals commanded the massive fleet heading to Cuba and Janson thought that was at least one too many. Prentice had laughed and agreed.

In overall command was the aging David Dixon Porter. At seventy, he had served with Farragut and Grant during the Civil War. Totally professional, he had made many enemies by insisting on high standards by all ranks. He was well organized and considered a fighter. His organizational skills were on display as the great host of ships made it down the Atlantic coast towards Cuba. Porter’s skills were augmented by those of the much younger Admiral Pierce Crosby. Crosby was in charge of shepherding the civilian transports with a minimum of confusion and had managed to do so. Porter kept control of the warships and directed gunboats and patrol vessels out every time a strange sail or mast or puff of smoke was seen.

As night fell, each ship was required to show oil lamps as running lights to prevent collisions and ships getting lost. Of course, each morning still brought its number of strays, which the smaller warships like the
Orion
dutifully rounded up. Since they functioned as shepherds, Janson had gotten in the habit of referring to their civilian charges as lambs.

“What we really need,” said Janson, “is a kind of telegraph between ships. Using signal flags and sending Morse code by signal lamp is just too inaccurate and prone to error. And the range is too damn limited, too.”

Prentice laughed. “You’re right, but you’d need a really long cord for telegraph between ships. I don’t doubt that something will be invented to make it happen, but not on this trip. By the way, shouldn’t we be nearing Matanzas by now?”

Janson conceded the point about the wire and agreed that Cuba should be just over the horizon. The
Orion
was in the fleet’s van and the men had bets as to when Cuba would be sighted and who would be the first sailor to do so. Sailors, he concluded, would bet on damn near anything.

“Land ho!” a lookout cried and a number of men cheered while others grumbled. Money changed hands as the men lined the rail to see the faint smudge on the horizon.

“Damn it to hell,” muttered Janson. “Either we’re lost or we’re not headed for Matanzas.”

“Could it be Havana?” asked an equally puzzled Prentice. “But it sure doesn’t look like Havana.”

Janson yelled to his crew, asking if anyone recognized their landfall. One young sailor timidly raised his hand. “Sir, it sort of looks like Santa Cruz del Norte.”

“And just what the hell is Santa Cruz del Norte?” Janson asked with a smile.

The sailor responded, “Captain, it’s a shitty little fishing village just about halfway between Matanzas and Havana.”

“Oh my God,” said Prentice, awed by the apparent strategy. “If we land here, we’ll have an army that can either march on Havana or attack the Spaniard’s rear at Matanzas.”

* * *

Manuel Garcia had been inducted only two weeks earlier and had been given a uniform that didn’t fit and a rifle he had never fired. For that matter, he’d never fired a gun of any kind in his young life. Nor had he ever worn shoes on his sturdy, hardened feet.

He was near the small town of Santa Cruz del Norte, which was only a few miles from his home and his mother. He and a handful of others were commanded by his former schoolteacher, who was as confused and puzzled as everyone. The erstwhile soldiers had serious doubts about the teacher. They wondered if he wasn’t senile. Manuel wondered that as well. As Manuel’s teacher, he had professed his love for Spain and his willingness to die for her. Now he didn’t seem so sure of himself.

They had dug what someone referred to as a redoubt, but it was only a low earth-walled fort that faced the sea. A small cannon had been found and placed in it to threaten the ocean. That there were no shells or ammunition didn’t seem to concern anyone. Finally, the very young and junior Spanish officer who commanded them showed up with a dozen men along with small amount of ammunition. He pronounced himself pleased and told everyone that they could easily hold off the approaching American hordes if the Yanks should have the balls to show themselves. The men with the lieutenant were regulars and they openly sneered at Manual’s militia.

The announcement horrified Manuel. He knew there was a war on, but he had understood that the fighting was a score of miles away. That was also too close, but the front seemed stable, so people had learned to live and let live. What else could they do? They were pawns. He’d given thought to joining the rebels, but hadn’t worked up the nerve. If caught, he’d be hanged or shot. Now, with Americans possibly approaching, he wondered if he had the nerve to desert. He reminded himself that deserters were also either hanged or shot.

At least Corporal Menendez had kept his word. Manuel had worked as a clerk for the lieutenant up until the last couple of days. With the Americans believed to be on the way, clerking could wait. A letter from his mother implied that she and the corporal had become close. He had mixed emotions about that. He wanted his mother to be happy, but he wanted his mother to himself. Of course, he realized, there was little he could do about it at this time.

Only a couple of days later, Manuel and the others awakened to a nightmare. All the ships in the world were approaching his little fort. The lieutenant screamed and they all grabbed their rifles. One went off accidentally and the lieutenant screamed again. Manuel rubbed his eyes. The nightmare would not go away. He could see the guns of the giant warships and it looked like they were all turned towards him.

The American ships closed to within range of their mighty guns and opened fire. The sound was deafening and the shells exploded around their little fort. The first barrage hit nothing and killed no one. The lieutenant stood on the wall and yelled defiance at the Americans. He was hysterical and white froth came from his mouth.

Small boats filled with soldiers were being rowed towards the shore. Manuel counted his bullets—twelve. With twelve rounds he was supposed to hold off the Yankee hordes? He laughed harshly and realized he was growing up too fast.

The American guns fired again and this time they struck. The lieutenant disappeared in a spray of pink mist and pieces of bone. Manuel screamed and huddled on the ground. Another shell struck the cannon, sending it tumbling over. It landed on a Spaniard who began screaming at the top of his lungs. His screams lasted only a few seconds before they ended in a gurgle.

It occurred to Manuel that it would be safe to flee while the Yankees reloaded. Yes, it was time.

“Run,” he screamed as he got to his feet. He jumped over the low wall at the rear of the fort and ran for his life. The rest of the tiny garrison ran with him. None of them had their rifles and they frantically tore at their uniforms. In seconds they were almost naked. He would get clothes from his mother and hide in the bushes until the war passed him.

He laughed when he saw that his old teacher was buck naked and running faster than any of them.

* * *

Major General Darius Couch stepped more nimbly out of the small boat and into the ankle deep water than he thought he would. The idea of leading an army once again was exhilarating. He felt at least ten years younger than his actual age.