1882: Custer in Chains (40 page)
Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
They originally considered naming the dog Tico after their dead comrade, but decided to name it Alfonso after their dog of a king who had gotten them into all this trouble. They would find another way to honor Tico. Manuel thought it was sad that they didn’t even know Tico’s last name or where he came from. They also hoped that the little priest who had murdered their friend would burn in Hell.
The dog sniffed the powdery bones and decided they were too dry to provide any sustenance. Manuel thought it was nice that the little dog did not have an appetite for humans, although he would have understood if it had. If starvation will make a man do crazy things like Tico did, then what would it do to an animal.
He didn’t want to know. He’d heard that there were such things as cannibals that willingly ate human flesh and was beginning to understand them.
The earthshaking thunder of the cannons had been joined by the rattle of small-arms fire that was getting ever closer. Their time of reckoning was coming and they were terrified. They huddled together and even the dog picked up on their fears, pressing against them and shaking as much as they did. Manuel wondered if they had anything that could pass as a white flag so they could at least attempt to surrender. To their horror, they heard footsteps all around the crypt. They also realized that the sound of gunfire was fading.
“Leave your weapons in there and come out with your hands up,” The command was shouted in poor but understandable Spanish. “We know that you’re in there. Come out right now or we start shooting.”
They looked at each other and quickly decided to comply. They yelled that they were coming out and staggered into the sunlight where they were confronted by a number of hairy, dirty giants in dressed in blue who had rifles pointed at them. They were the first Americans they had ever seen. All their hands were up with the exception of Manuel who held the dog in his arms. The frightened animal had peed on him but Manuel didn’t care.
“Children, who are you and what are you doing in there?” asked the same man who had ordered them to leave the place of death. His voice was sad and no longer fearsome and he lowered his rifle. “Are you Spanish soldiers?”
Manuel decided that honesty was probably the best policy. “They tried to make us soldiers, but we left them. We didn’t want to fight anyone.” He tried not to sob but couldn’t help himself. The others were crying as well. The dog whimpered and looked confused.
The blue giant translated for his companions who laughed softly. One reached down and petted Alfonso, who licked the giant’s hand. “You were wise to desert,” said the man who understood Spanish. “Spaniards are dying by the thousands. Little boys should not be fighting machine guns.”
Manual wasn’t certain what machine guns were but had heard about them. He understood that they were something terrible.
“What do you boys want to do now?” the soldier asked.
Manuel couldn’t help another tear from forming and running down his filthy cheek. The others were sobbing as well. “Sir, we want to go home.”
One of the soldiers looked away after hearing the translation while another took out part of a loaf of bread, broke off a piece and gave it to the dog who gulped it. Then he saw how the boys looked longingly at the bread, laughed, and brought out a much larger part of a loaf and gave it to Manuel, who thanked him and broke it into roughly equal pieces.
The American gestured towards the road. Large numbers of people were filing down it and all were headed in the same direction, the country. “Mix in with those people and go outside the city. You have no weapons and you look harmless, so it’s not likely that anyone will stop you. After that you’re on your own. Do you know where your home is?”
Manuel nodded proudly. “I am from Santa Cruz del Norte. My mother has a house there and she will take care of us. We will go there until I can find a way to get my friends to their real homes.”
“Your mother will be very proud of you,” the American said. He pushed some more food their way and the other soldiers contributed as well. They would eat well this day. The giant American ruffled Manuel’s hair. “Travel safely.”
They walked for an entire day and were well out of the city and the column of refugees was thinning. They were hungry again and thirsty. Some people were looking carefully at the people in the column as if they wanted to find someone who was lost. He shrugged. All he wanted to do was find his way home.
He gasped as a large hand came down on his shoulder. “You are a difficult young man to find.”
“Corporal Menendez, what are you doing here?”
“I am not a corporal any more. I am only Carlos Menendez and I am a farmer. I was looking for a young boy to take back to his mother. Now it looks like I have found several lost boys and a skinny dog. I think she will be very happy to see you, all of you.” He handed them a canteen. “Now drink some water and gather your strength.”
* * *
Cisneros prided himself on being a good naval officer and one who prepared for contingencies. Thus, he was shocked when Salazar’s soldiers entered the British Consulate through a rear door he didn’t know existed. For the last moments of his life, he ruefully admitted that warships don’t have rear entrances.
Convinced that the consulate’s inhabitants were the enemies of Spain, the remnants of Salazar’s and Monsignor Bernardi’s troops poured in, fired wildly at shadows or anything that moved. They rushed forward and then opened the double front door, letting in more of their men. Cisneros’ men shot down a number of the attackers, but there were too many of them already in the building. Outraged and desperate, Cisneros led a charge against Salazar and his men. Cisneros knew that Salazar had caused this war and this calamity for Spain and he wanted justice for his country.
While Cisneros’ men hesitated for an instant before shooting their fellow countrymen, Salazar’s fanatic troops had no such reservations. Without orders and while Salazar hid behind a wall, they poured a volley into the sailors. Cisneros fell with a bullet in his head and several in his chest. Their leader gone, the remaining sailors ran outside and fled into the city.
Salazar was about to lead a search for Kendrick and Juana when more gunfire hit his men from a room off their left. Enraged, Salazar dropped to the floor and fired through the doorway and heard screams. He looked in and saw several bodies and a number of women cowering on the floor. He quickly satisfied himself that none of the women was Juana and that Kendrick was not among the dead or dying. That meant that they had escaped during the confusion.
A dark-haired nurse knelt by one of the fallen men. She was British or American by her looks. The woman looked up at him, her eyes filled with anger. “Do you realize what you have just done?”
Salazar laughed. There was no longer any threat to worry about. “I have defended Spain’s honor and now I will go and defend mine.”
Sarah now recognized him from the pictures she’d seen. “Diego Salazar, not only did you start this war, but you just shot the President of the United States.”
◆
Chapter 22
◆
L
ang’s intended lightning thrust towards the British Consulate had confronted reality. The old streets of Havana were filled with retreating Spanish soldiers who were fighting each other as well as Cuban rebels. Black smoke filled the air and hot ashes from burning homes and buildings fell on them. Lang thought that the city of Havana was burning and being turned to cinders just as ancient Rome had been destroyed under Nero.
Lang’s men moved as a compact mass towards what they felt was the right direction. The streets were narrow and congested and, even with Diego Valdez and a score of his men to help, they got lost a couple of times. Some roads were little more than alleys. Several times they were confronted by groups of Spanish soldiers who, on seeing the disciplined Americans, melted away. Only one time did a Spaniard open fire on them and he was cut down in a barrage of gunfire. Lang commented that moving through Havana was like swimming upstream against a school of desperate fish.
The Spanish were fighting the Cubans and the Americans, and the Cubans were fighting each other as the last act of a brutal civil war played out in the blood-soaked streets. Several times, Valdez and his men had to be restrained from exacting brutal revenge against their oppressors. Valdez’s mistress, Maria, accompanied him and tried to act as a calming influence. As a result, atrocities were at a minimum.
Many Spaniards wished to surrender, but accepting their surrender was not the purpose of Lang’s column. Their goal was the British Consulate and the rescue of President George Armstrong Custer. That Custer was imprisoned with other Americans who were far more popular and personally more important to Lang and the other Americans was irrelevant. They had a task assigned to them.
They passed the smashed and smoldering fortress of Castillo del Principe. Ahead they could see the spires of the Cathedral of San Cristobal. Smoke was swirling around it as well. “My world is burning,” said Valdez. Maria caught up with them and held Valdez’s arm.
“You’ll have a long time to rebuild it,” answered Lang.
Lang signaled a halt. Ahead of them was their goal, the large enclave that was the British Consulate and the home of Redford Dunfield. The massive wooden doors were open and smoke was pouring from a number of windows. Bloody bodies were strewn around the outside of what had been a magnificent estate.
They moved cautiously to the main entrance and walked in, their weapons at the ready. They passed more bodies as they entered the central courtyard. There was silence. Lang wondered if the place had been abandoned. If so, where the devil was Custer?
“Hello,” Lang hollered. “Anybody home?” he added and immediately felt foolish for saying that. A couple of his men snickered nervously, and he silenced them with a glare.
Valdez yelled something in Spanish and there was still silence. “This is the United States Army,” Lang added. “Come out. You are safe.”
There was a rustling noise followed by a woman’s voice. “Is that you, Captain Lang?”
Lang breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, it is, Mrs. Damon, although I regret to inform you that neither your general nor Sergeant Haney are with us.”
Sarah and Ruta emerged from a hallway. They were filthy and bruised and their clothing was torn. Each was carrying a rifle and had a pistol stuck in their waistbands.
“I hope you have a doctor with you. President Custer was badly wounded in the fighting. I’m afraid he might die.”
* * *
General Weyler had a hard time finding the current headquarters of Governor-General Villate as he had moved it several times in response to changing threats from both the Americans and the Cuban insurgents. Finally, he located it in a small abandoned hotel. A number of staff officers were wandering around in confusion. They looked lost and thoroughly dispirited. Weyler grabbed the arm of a captain he knew was an aide to Villate.
“Captain Avila, where the hell is the general?”
The captain laughed harshly. “How the devil would I know? I haven’t seen him in hours. It is my firm belief, General Weyler, that the bird has flown and is now on the high seas and headed for some other country that will give him and his money sanctuary.”
Weyler grabbed the Avila by the collar. “Are you saying that he has deserted his post?”
Avila laughed, almost hysterically. His world was crashing around him. “Yes, General. Tell me, do you see him around? No, and nobody has, like I said, for some time. The last time I did see him he had several foot lockers and other pieces of luggage ready to be loaded onto a waiting carriage. I thought he was merely moving his quarters again, but he had already told me that he would not return to Spain in disgrace for losing Cuba where he would have to endure a court martial and possibly a hanging. Even if he wasn’t hanged, he would suffer eternal shame and disgrace. I believe those boxes and luggage contained money and securities to help him set up a new and prosperous life in another country. I have been looking at some of Villate’s correspondence and I now know that he had been in contact with a man who owned a fishing boat. I do not believe that the American Navy would concern itself with such an insignificant craft if he should try to flee in it.”
Weyler could see Avila’s logic. “Then we won’t even consider him.”
“With respects, General Weyler, I believe that you are the next senior officer. Therefore, the command of the armies and government of Cuba now rests on your shoulders.”
Villate, you bastard, Weyler thought, but then smiled. The old man had done him a favor. Yes, he would likely have to surrender, but the shame would be Villate’s and not his. There would be an inquiry in Madrid where scorn would be heaped on Villate’s absent head. He, Valeriano Weyler, would be found guilty of nothing more than inheriting Villate’s mess. He would show how he had fought bravely but had been betrayed by his leader. He would survive and likely be given an even more important command by a grateful Spain and king.
“Get me any senior officers you can find. We have to begin negotiating an end to this war.”
* * *
Against the advice of his staff, Ryder had entered Havana. He had gotten word that President Custer had been shot and that Sarah, Ruta, and the others were safe. Although he was not the slightest bit fond of Custer, he could not bring himself to wish ill to the foolish man. He had sent a doctor on ahead with orders to get to the consulate as quickly as possible. As to his responsibilities, he still had a brigade to coordinate as it moved deeper and deeper into the mass of buildings, many of them burning, that was Havana.
The news that a Spaniard had shot Custer had spread rapidly throughout the army. It angered the American soldiers, who were fighting even more ferociously than before. Rifle fire and Gatling guns were destroying any resistance that the Spanish could manage. If something didn’t happen, the battle could turn into a massacre as other American forces had penetrated other parts of Havana’s defenses. Pywell took picture after picture and Martin wondered how many of them would turn out. Enough, he hoped, so that the world would see the carnage.
Whenever they could, soldiers yelled in Spanish for the enemy to surrender. They were told that they would be protected and treated well. They were told that they would be sent home if that was their wish. It was beginning to work. Numbers of Spanish soldiers had thrown down their rifles and begun walking towards them with their hands up. Their expressions said that they were terrified they would be murdered by the American soldiers. Numerous white flags were waving from windows as well as by individual soldiers. Ryder gave the order to cease fire and an uneasy silence descended. Without being ordered, Spanish soldiers lay down their arms and nervously stepped away.
Whole units had begun surrendering. Spanish officers willingly took charge and organized a parade of disconsolate and unarmed men heading out of Havana. Ryder had no idea where they would go and didn’t give a damn. He was, however, shocked at how many there were. Hopefully, there were too many for the Cuban rebels to massacre. He hoped somebody was taking charge of protecting the prisoners from any attempt at massacre.
“Haney, with decent training and leadership, they could have either held out forever or chewed us to little pieces.”
“Thank God, St. Patrick, and Richard Gatling for saving us,” Haney said. “Now, General dearest, let’s find that damned consulate.”
Before they could advance further, a Spanish captain waving a white flag approached them nervously. “Are you a senior officer?” he asked.
Before Ryder could answer, Haney stepped in front of him, and snapped to attention and glared at the poor man. “I am an aide to General Martin Ryder. Who the devil are you?”
The captain looked like he was going to cry. “I am Captain Joaquin Avila, the senior aide to General Valeriano Weyler who is now the governor-general of Cuba. My general would like to find a senior officer to accept the surrender of all the Spanish forces in Cuba.”
Ryder’s mind reeled. From Hancock on down they had thought that the Spanish would be forced to surrender Havana, but this man had just said that Weyler was willing to surrender all of Cuba. Jesus. He turned to a young American officer who was watching and listening with his mouth open. “Lieutenant, run back to where the field telegraph reaches and send messages to Generals Hancock, Benteen, and Miles. Tell them that Weyler wishes to surrender all of Cuba and not just Havana. Tell them that I am going to accept that surrender on their behalf and order a cease-fire to take affect at least in my area.”
* * *
Prentice had managed to cadge a lift back to the
Orion
where Janson’s ship was in line to enter the confines of Havana’s harbor. Gunfire from the Spanish side of the narrow channel had been reduced to sporadic small arms fire. To further protect the lightly armored auxiliary cruiser, Janson had the port side of the hull draped in wooden planks to help keep bullets from piercing the
Orion
’s thin hull.
A pair of Gatling guns had been mounted on the port side as well, and bursts of bullets had silenced almost all of the remaining enemy gunners. In his opinion, it was indeed becoming the age of the machine gun.
Prentice fully understood the difficulty of moving a large and cumbersome machine gun while under fire. Mounting guns on a stable but moveable platform such as a ship was an ideal use of the deadly weapons. Not only could the guns rake enemy positions, but they could also be used effectively against attacks by small boats.
“In for a penny,” said Janson as the ship entered the narrow channel. Buildings and fortifications on both sides were smoking and some were in flames. Prentice held his breath as they moved slowly through what was clearly the most dangerous part of their journey.
Then the channel widened and they emerged into the harbor. “Dante’s Inferno,” said Prentice.
“If Dante wrote about a city on fire, then you’re right.”
Clouds of smoke partly obscured the sunlight and made them choke. Prentice hoped he wasn’t choking on ashes from human flesh, then decided there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had come a long way in the last few months and wasn’t certain he liked the trip. It had been one thing to sink an enemy gunboat and then a battleship, but killing that man in the Spanish fort had been difficult to deal with, even though the man had been attacking him and it had occurred so quickly. He would never get over the look on the man’s face as he lay there mortally wounded from Prentice’s sword stroke. Now it was terrible to watch a proud and ancient city burning to death.
Large numbers of small boats sailed or steamed past them, clearly trying to escape to the open sea. “I suppose we should try to stop them,” said Janson, “but there are so damn many of them. Besides, the admiral doesn’t seem too concerned, so why should we?”
“Oh my God,” Prentice exclaimed. “Look at that!”
Many of the buildings lining the once beautiful waterfront were burning, and the streets were packed with Spanish soldiers. Most of them were without weapons, while others threw their rifles into the harbor. Some were waving white flags and others simply waving their arms in a frantic attempt to show that they were harmless. A soldier fell into the water, pushed by those behind him. More followed. Only a couple surfaced.
“We could kill a thousand with one volley,” said Janson. “Unless given a direct order from Admiral Porter I will not fire, and perhaps not even then. It would be like slaughtering sheep or chickens.”
Signal flags fluttered from the flagship. Prentice interpreted. “We are to anchor but keep up steam. No small boats will be allowed near us. I guess that’s in case they try to rush us and overwhelm us.”
“Makes sense. Somehow, though, I don’t think the good admiral expected this sort of reception. Nope, I’ll bet you a dollar that the old war dog expected to fight his way in and may just be a little disappointed, just like he might have been when the Spanish squadron surrendered without a fight.”
Prentice laughed softly. “Skipper, I’m not the slightest bit disappointed.”
* * *
Salazar’s legion now consisted of himself and two very nervous soldiers. He was convinced that they would run at the first chance, so he kept his revolver out and watched them carefully. He would not put it past them to attack him and rob him.
He had given considerable thought to where Juana and Kendrick would go and decided there was only one logical conclusion. With escape through the crumbling Spanish lines and out to the Americans still impractical because of ongoing fighting, that left only the residence of Juana’s uncle, the esteemed Bishop Estefan Campoy.
Salazar pounded on the door of the bishop’s residence and it was opened fairly quickly. The bishop stood before him, his arms folded across his chest. “You may not enter here.”
Salazar growled and pushed the cleric aside. Campoy again tried to stop him and Salazar knocked him down. When Campoy got to his feet, his face was bloodied. “You have struck a man of the cloth. You have committed a grievous sin.”
Salazar laughed. “Add it to the list.”
