1882: Custer in Chains (30 page)
Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
The bombardment of the pitiful shore defenses had been violent but short. The little earthen-walled fort almost seemed to disappear under the impact. The men of Gordon’s division had landed in reasonably good order and were moving inward towards the road that connected Matanzas with Havana. Chamberlain’s troops would land shortly. He would soon have a full fifteen thousand men to hurl at the enemy’s rear. It would be like Chancellorsville again, except that he would play the role of Stonewall Jackson and not the inept Joe Hooker. He reminded himself not to get shot by his own men like Jackson had.
The landing had been well organized and had gone off almost without a hitch. Only a couple of boats had capsized and spilled their passengers and only a handful of the passengers had drowned. It was regrettable, a tragedy, but a necessary price to pay. He thought it was a shame that so few people, including sailors who should know better, knew how to swim.
Couch’s attack would not be as sudden and dramatic as when Jackson’s force fell on an unsuspecting Union flank and destroyed it. No, he could easily imagine scores of messengers heading to General Weyler at Matanzas with the terrible news that a large new enemy was in his rear. Other messengers would be riding to inform Villate in Havana. He assumed that the Spanish had telegraph lines operating between Havana and Matanzas. If the lines existed, the American army would be able to cut the one that ran parallel to the road running from Matanzas to Havana. Weyler would have to contend with the fact that, in order to fight the new American army, he would have to pull men away from the siege lines at Matanzas. If that happened, he was confident that Nelson Miles, spurred on by Hancock, would launch his own counterattack, hopefully catching the Spanish in a pincers.
There had been serious discussions about what should be the main thrust of the American invasion. Some advisors had said they should strike directly towards Havana, the head of the Spanish snake. Hancock had been adamant. Their goal was the destruction of Weyler’s army. Hadn’t they learned anything, Hancock had wondered out loud, from the Civil War? While generals on both sides had striven to conquer capitals, large cities, and vast tracts of land, only Grant and Sherman had understood that you won a war by destroying the enemy’s ability to fight and today that meant killing Weyler’s army. Havana, like Washington or Richmond, would always be there.
There was another real fear. On hearing that an enemy was behind him, it was possible, even likely, that Weyler would attack Matanzas with a desperate fury. The smaller American force could be overwhelmed and massacred. Worse, thousands of Americans could wind up as prisoners.
The Second Corps had to get there in a hurry. So too did the Navy. Already empty American transports were heading back to Florida where they would reload with more men and supplies. In the meantime, he would request Admiral Dixon to send a number of his smaller gunboats east to Matanzas where their guns might help blunt a Spanish attack.
* * *
Manuel Garcia leaned on his shovel and contemplated his miserable fate and the likelihood that God hated him. What made him think that he could simply run away from the Spanish Army? He hadn’t gotten more than a couple of miles from the smoldering and bloody ruins of the fort at Santa Cruz del Norte before he’d been captured by a Spanish patrol. His protestations that he was fleeing for his life and simply looking to rejoin his unit were laughed at for the lies they were. He had wanted to find his way home and hide under his bed until this miserable war was over.
The Spanish took him and his old teacher to Havana where justice was meted out. The old man was hanged. Manuel had watched in horror as his teacher’s skinny legs kicked and his feet scraped at the earth that was cruelly and tantalizingly barely beneath his reach. His face turned black and his eyes almost bugged out of their sockets while he danced. The soldiers had laughed hysterically as he both emptied his bowels and ejaculated before he died. Manuel had despised Professor Sanchez, but he did not deserve to be murdered.
“That one burst of pleasure will have to last him for all eternity,” said a skinny sergeant. “You, however, will have a choice. You can choose to be hanged and dance just like your old friend did or you can join a labor battalion.”
There was no real choice. He joined the battalion. He even thought that he’d be safer than in an army unit since he wouldn’t be involved in any fighting. Events had proven him wrong in that regard as well. He and a number of boys his age and younger in the battalion were out in the open while the shelling occurred. They had dug slit trenches to dive in to if the shelling got too bad, but their overseers generally jumped in first and told the laborers to keep working. When the shelling got bad, the boys lay on the ground and whimpered, or ignored the orders and simply piled in.
When it was safe enough to continue, their eyes were greeted with more scenes of death and destruction. While it was evident that the Americans wanted only to destroy fortifications, their shells sometimes landed in nearby buildings, killing and maiming. He was beginning to grow used to the sight of dismembered bodies and the sounds of the screaming wounded and that frightened him. He never wanted to get accustomed to his new nightmare life.
Their sergeant, a fat pig who said he was from Barcelona and thereby superior to mere Cubans, screamed and ordered them back to work. Manuel and the other boys fantasized about driving one of their shovels up his ass. Along with being a pig, the sergeant was also a coward. Even when the bombardment was clearly not in their area, he was always the first one into a trench.
An explosion ripped through the nearby fortress of Castillo del Principe. The massive and oddly shaped stone structure jutted out from the Spanish defenses and, as someone had explained, was designed to provide flanking fire against an attacking enemy. Manual thought that was funny. The century-old stone structure would be a pile of rubble before long and the Americans would simply either ignore it or walk over what would soon be a jumble of rocks. Once, Manuel had been an unsophisticated farm boy. Now he was learning more about the world and war than he ever wanted to or thought possible.
Another explosion sent him reeling. For a moment he thought he was dead, but then he realized he was choking on dust. Dead men don’t choke, he told himself. He managed to get to a standing position. Several bodies lay near him along with a number of bloody body parts and other chunks of human meat. He gagged. He recognized the fat sergeant from Barcelona by his head. The rest of his body was nowhere to be seen. A couple of his young coworkers grabbed him and dragged him away while yelling at him. He had a hard time hearing but he understood their meaning if not their words. Flee, they were saying. Run for your life.
Manuel’s shovel had been broken by the blast, but the blade and a decent portion of the shaft remained. He reached down and grabbed it. If all else failed, it would serve as some kind of weapon.
“Grab your tools,” he yelled at them. The boys nodded their comprehension and grabbed shovels and anything else that could be used to defend themselves. When they were armed, they were all looking at him. By virtue of giving an order that made sense, he had just become their leader.
He and the others headed into the city, looking for Spanish patrols to avoid. They wanted to flee to the Americans but that would involve going through Spanish lines where they would likely be shot as the deserters they were.
Manuel wanted to cry. He wanted to go home to his mother. Did that make him a coward? If it did, he was not concerned. This was not his war and all he wanted was to leave Havana. And he certainly did not want to be responsible for a pack of boys as young as he.
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Chapter 17
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T
he fire from the Spanish lines was deafening and overwhelming, causing everyone to keep their heads down as bullets and shells flew overhead or thudded into the American barricades and trenches. At the moment, the Spanish were making no attempt to attack. They were using their cannons and thousands of riflemen to provide covering fire for the soldiers who were creeping up towards the hated barbed wire.
Martin only let a handful of his men expose themselves to enemy bullets, and those were his invaluable sharpshooters. The Spanish were pushing pieces of wood and anything else that would stop or deflect a bullet ahead of each crawling soldier, which made them very hard to hit. What they were about to do was painfully obvious, but not even machine gun fire appeared to hit enough of them to stop or deter them.
“We knew they’d figure out something,” said Benteen. “I just didn’t think it would be this simple.”
When they were close enough to the wire, Spanish soldiers would quickly stand and hurl a grappling hook into the wire. Most of the time it held and a trailing rope was pulled on by Spaniards who yanked the poles holding the wire from the ground. The wire was then dragged back to the Spanish lines. The wall of wire was being systematically dismantled.
“At least they’ve told us exactly where they’re going to attack,” Ryder said. “Now I can place my guns with a degree of confidence.”
Benteen muttered something obscene that Martin didn’t think warranted a reply. A two-hundred-yard breach in the barbed wire was almost completed. To stop an attack, he’d jammed in almost his entire brigade and Benteen had placed another behind it. Six Gatling guns were arrayed along with a number of cannons loaded with grape and shrapnel. Lang’s work in making the machine guns more portable was proving its worth.
On the other hand, he fervently wished that Sarah and the others were safe in Florida instead of less than a hundred yards behind him. Women should not be in battle, especially women who were dressed in men’s uniforms. If the position was overwhelmed, would the Spanish even recognize the nurses as women until after it was too late? And what would happen to them if they did? One of Valdez’s Cuban rebels said that the Spanish considered a woman in man’s clothing to be a whore and that she would likely be treated as one.
Trumpets sounded from below and thousands of voices roared their defiance. They signaled that it was time for the assault. A horde of Spaniards emerged from the ground. They’d gotten much closer than Ryder had believed they could. American rifles and machine guns ripped through them. They fell by the score, but kept coming. His cannon fired grape and shrapnel and shredded still more bodies. These too fell and the dead and wounded began to pile up. The smoke was blowing downhill and hiding the Spanish from Ryder’s men. The Americans fired into the clouds and hoped they hit something. His men had to expose themselves in order to fire and they were falling. Some screamed, but far too many simply lay ominously still where they lay in crumpled bloody heaps in their trenches.
His men were falling back from their first trench line and tumbling into the second. He had intended to stay farther back from the front than he’d done during the first attack, but the Spaniards were getting closer and closer to his position. He ordered his men to fix bayonets. Ryder heard the fire of heavy guns coming from his rear. Shells far larger than those from his field guns landed among the Spaniards still climbing the hill.
“What the hell?” Ryder wondered. A few moments later, a breathless Major Barnes flopped down.
“The Navy’s arrived. There are gunboats in the bay, and it looks like one of our bigger sloops is shelling the Spaniards by the bay’s opening.”
More shells landed, further shredding the Spanish attack. The enemy paused, seemed confused and dispirited, and then began to drift back. In another minute and another volley, the backward drift became a run. The Spaniards were fleeing.
“We should attack,” said Barnes.
Ryder shook his head. “Until and if we can contact the Navy about our intentions, we’re better off staying right here. We wouldn’t want to get killed by our own people, would we?”
Barnes response was a sudden shriek. Ryder turned. Barnes’ right hand was a pulpy mass below his wrist. Bones and tendons were clearly visible and he was bleeding profusely. Hands grabbed him and a rough tourniquet was applied above his elbow. He stopped screaming and his face turned a pasty white. His eyes were blank and rolling back in his head. He dropped to his knees and fell backwards.
“Get him to the rear,” yelled Haney. Soldiers quickly complied. Ryder could only shake his head. Sarah was going to be horribly shocked and stunned when she saw her brother and there was nothing he could do. His job was where he was, on the top of a hill looking down as the Spaniards slowly withdrew.
“The Navy’s ceased fire,” said Benteen. His cheek had been sliced open and the wound made him talk funny. “The Spanish are almost out of the ships’ range anyhow. We will advance.”
Whistles and bugles blew. The men of Ryder’s brigade moved cautiously out of their trenches and down the slope. They walked gingerly through the ground that was blanketed with dead and wounded. They tried very hard to not step on a wounded man or a corpse, but there were places where the Spanish casualties were piled so deeply that it was impossible. Some of the dead groaned as they were stepped on, giving the illusion that they were still alive. They weren’t. It was air being expelled from their dead lungs. Some of the wounded screamed, but there was nothing the Americans could do for them.
They kept an eye out for any wounded Spaniard who wanted to take an American with him before he died. None did, and they walked through the charnel house and into the Spanish camp. Only a few more wounded lay there along with several dozen enemy soldiers who stood with their hands up.
“Now what, General?” asked Lang.
Ryder looked around and picked out a good defensive position. “We stop here and get organized, maybe figure out how many men we’ve got left and, oh yeah, get some food, water, and ammunition.”
“What do we do about cleaning up the battlefield? We should do something before all those bodies begin to stink to high heaven,” Lang said.
The several dozen surrendering Spaniards had become a couple of hundred with more giving up every minute. Ryder agreed with Lang. There already was a stench coming from the battlefield as ripped bodies, blood, and torn entrails along with the usual smells of sweat, piss, and shit began to heat up. Some bodies were beginning to bloat.
Martin waved in the general direction of the prisoners. “We’ll let them collect and bury their comrades. They can take any wounded back to our hospitals.”
Haney was beside him. “Want me to go and check on Major Barnes?”
Ryder nodded. “And everyone else.” Haney understood. It was a given that he would check on Sarah and Ruta as well. Martin would have to find a way to see Sarah and comfort her. Barnes’ hand was clearly gone, and a wound like the one he’d gotten could easily get infected and prove fatal. Damn it to hell.
* * *
Gilberto Salazar stopped running after about a mile. He could still see the damned hill in the distance and the many tiny dots that were American soldiers emerging from their trenches. He had led his men as close as possible for his own safety until they were able to throw their grappling hooks and begin to drag down the wire. At that point he had stopped and gradually fallen back. The hooks had been his idea and his men had been ordered to be a major part of the effort. They had performed nobly and bravely, but now most of them were dead or wounded.
Salazar counted the men gathered around him. There were just under a hundred and some of them were wounded and would play no further role in the fighting. His brave legion had been bled out of existence. He wanted to weep from frustration and bitterness, but would not permit himself to show weakness.
The failure of the attack wasn’t his fault. The damned American warships had shown up just as the Spanish army was about to destroy the enemy. There had also been rumors of a large American landing to their rear that had arrived at about the same time. This had caused fear and confusion. The ferocious American defense, combined with the presence of the warships and a possible enemy force in their rear had proven disastrous to the fighting spirit of the Spanish army. They had broken and run. The Spanish army had collapsed.
Salazar recognized an aide from Weyler’s staff. The man was wide-eyed and looked as if he was about to panic. Salazar grabbed his arm. “Do you have orders for us?”
The aide looked surprised, then suddenly pleased as he saw that it was Salazar. “Yes. I have been ordered to find you. All units are to take the roads to Havana. The Americans have landed in great force at Santa Cruz del Norte. Reports say there are a hundred thousand of them and that they are heading here. General Weyler says we must flee to Havana before we are destroyed.”
* * *
Sarah wiped her brother’s forehead with a damp cloth. He was unconscious and could only moan, although she sensed that he was comforted by the feel. She wore a smock over her cut-down soldier’s uniform and she, the smock, and her uniform were covered with drying blood and gore. She’d managed to keep her hands reasonably clean and had done her best to avoid infecting Jack and anyone else she’d treated.
“I’m sorry,” said Doctor Desmond. He too was covered with the blood of soldiers and his eyes were red-ringed with exhaustion. “We tried to save as much of his right arm as possible, but his hand was destroyed along with some of the bone above his wrist. With luck he’ll make it, but he will need help until he learns to function with only one hand.”
“He was right-handed,” she said numbly. “What will he do without a right hand?” Desmond didn’t hear her. He had gone on to another patient.
At least the killing had stopped, she thought, if only for a moment. The sounds of battle had faded to nothing. Martin and the army were off the hill and advancing inland. The combined might of the United States Army and Navy had won a great victory. So why were all of these people moaning and screaming, and why were there those hideous mounds of white limbs outside where flies were gathering by the millions to feast on them?
Nothing she’d seen or done before had prepared her for these sights and smells. Ruta was beside her. “Was it like this in Paris?” Sarah asked.
Ruta was just as filthy and exhausted. “Believe it or not, it was worse. At least we’re not starving as well.”
A soldier howled in indescribable agony. Someone said they were running out of ether. Ruta grabbed her arm. “We have to get back to help the others. You can either help your brother or mourn him later, Sarah. There’s nothing you can do for him right now.”
She agreed. Helping others to live was her duty. There truly was nothing more she could do for Jack. His fate was out of her control. She looked across and saw that Martin had come up the hill and was checking on some wounded soldiers. He looked up and caught her eye. He nodded grimly and walked over. They would not embrace in the hospital. Instead, they let their hands touch. She quickly explained about her brother and he responded that he knew, that he’d seen him get shot and that Jack was fortunate to be alive.
“I wonder if he’ll feel that way later,” she said. Martin said nothing.
A general was approaching them. “Jesus,” he said. “It’s Hancock.”
Ryder snapped to attention and saluted. Hancock returned the gesture and shook Martin’s hand. “Benteen says your men were magnificent. But what about your brigade’s casualties?”
Ryder took a deep breath. “In rough numbers, two hundred dead and three hundred wounded. Considering the brigade was under-strength, that’s about twenty per cent of our men.”
Even though the numbers were nothing like what Hancock had seen at Gettysburg and elsewhere, they were brutal enough and typical of other units. They could not afford to lose men at that rate. The roughly forty thousand men now in Cuba were just about all there was. Even if he could somehow conjure up a larger army, he would have enormous difficulties supplying it.
“We will not chase them,” Hancock said, “at least not right away. We must rest our men and get them resupplied. When that happens we will move towards Havana along the coast road. I’m sure the Spanish will be setting up roadblocks and strong points to slow us and bleed us.”
“If you get help from the guerillas, General, perhaps you can bypass them, maybe even attack them in the rear.”
Hancock scowled. “I was told that the guerillas were unreliable, that they were little more than bandits.”
“General, may I ask who told you that?”
Hancock looked away. “Why, it was our secretary of state, James G. Blaine. He said they were thieves who would steal everything that wasn’t nailed down. And if they succeeded in gaining independence, that there would be a massacre of innocents that would eclipse anything that had happened elsewhere, even in Haiti. He said he’d spoken with some of their leaders and said they were a bunch of liars as well.”
“Sir, some are liars and thieves, but I’ve been working with a group that has been extremely helpful. They’ve scouted for us, carried messages, and ambushed small Spanish units. They’ve even managed to go in and out of Havana almost at will. They cannot stand up to the Spanish army in a traditional battle. They don’t have the weapons, the training, or the leadership. But they can guide us and will fight for us. Actually they’re fighting for themselves, since they are convinced that they will be independent when all of this is over.”
“I don’t know about independence,” said Hancock. “That will be decided by the president, whoever he is, along with Congress. However, we do need good scouts who can fight. I’ve seen the maps of Cuba and, for all intents and purposes, they are utterly useless. They show no roads in the interior and that cannot be true, so, yes, I will gratefully accept their help.”
Hancock patted Ryder on the shoulder and smiled. “In the meantime, look to your wounded and bury your dead. And don’t forget to talk to that lovely young woman who’s been staring at us.”
