1882: Custer in Chains (41 page)
Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
Campoy tried to block Salazar’s entrance to the kitchen. Juana and Kendrick stood against a wall. They looked almost resigned to their fate. Kendrick had armed himself with a kitchen knife, which Salazar thought was hilarious.
Salazar howled with glee and aimed his pistol at them. “You are going to die.”
“No,” said the bishop. “If you shoot them you will be guilty of the crime of murder. I will testify at your trial and you will hang.”
“No, Bishop, that simply will not happen,” Salazar said. “Don’t you think I planned for this eventuality? I knew they would come running to you if they got out of the consulate. Now I am going to kill them and when they are dead I will fall on my knees and beg you to hear my confession. As a good priest, you will be obliged to do so and then confession of my crime will be protected by the seal of the confessional. You will not be permitted to testify against me according to the rules of Holy Mother Church.”
Campoy groaned. “Don’t do it,” he pleaded. “Don’t kill them.”
Salazar pushed the bishop aside. Neither Kendrick nor Juana moved, which puzzled him. They even seemed to be looking over his shoulder. At what? Did they see God? Perhaps they were paralyzed with fright? He raised his right arm, but his right arm wouldn’t respond. Seconds later, torrents of pain overwhelmed him and he dropped to his knees. The pistol dropped uselessly to the floor. Instinctively, he tried to reach it with his left hand, but he felt something smash into that shoulder as well. He howled and he fell onto his back. He looked up and saw a demon.
“Why did you have to kill her?” Hector Rojas asked in a flat, dull voice. His large hammer hung loosely from the leather loop around his hand.
The agony from the broken bones in Salazar’s shoulders made speech almost impossible. “Get me a doctor,” he managed to gasp.
“No doctor,” Rojas said calmly. He swung the hammer and smashed Salazar’s left kneecap. “Again, why did you kill her?”
“She angered me,” Salazar managed to gasp through his agonies. “She said I wasn’t a man.” He looked wildly for the two men who were supposed to protect him. They weren’t around. Either they’d fled or Rojas had killed them. The bishop was standing with Juana and Kendrick.
“She was right. You aren’t a man,” Rojas said as he swung the hammer and destroyed Salazar’s right kneecap, causing his incoherent screams to reach an even higher crescendo. “Mercedes was a wonderful woman. She was kind and thoughtful, and you killed her like she was a bug. She should be alive and you should not be. I am going to correct at least part of that.”
Rojas swung the hammer again and brought it down on Salazar’s skull, smashing it. Rojas could hear Juana vomiting and the bishop praying. He wiped the mess that had been Salazar’s brains off of the hammer and turned to the bishop. “I have killed a helpless man and I want you to hear my confession.”
Campoy swallowed. “With pleasure. We will go into the other room and you will confess this and any other sins you might have committed. Your penance will be light because you have killed a monster. When that is done, perhaps we can discuss your taking employment with me. You would be in charge of protecting the cathedral and all its valuables.”
Rojas smiled. He would have a good job along with all the wealth that he had taken. “I would like that.”
The bishop continued. “I have seen Mercedes’ will and she has left a goodly part of it to you. You took care of her and she will take care of you.”
Rojas nodded. He wondered if the bishop suspected that he had looted money from Mercedes’ safe. Ah well.
Juana was wide-eyed and stunned at the turn of events, and Kendrick wasn’t in much better shape. Campoy took both of Juana’s hands in his and smiled with genuine joy. “My dearest niece, it very much looks like you are now a widow. All of our wishes and prayers have come true. If you want to marry this fire-breathing pagan, I will dispense with any formalities and marry you right after I hear this other gentleman’s confession.”
Juana smiled and grabbed Kendrick’s arm. “The pagan and I would like that very much.”
Campoy hugged her. “After the nuptials I would strongly urge you to leave Cuba as quickly as you can. The fever season is coming and I don’t know how well the Americans are prepared for it.”
“You can count on it,” said Kendrick. “I have a book to write.”
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Chapter 23
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S
urgeon General Rear Admiral John B. Hamilton had a sterling reputation as an administrator, doctor, and reformer. Thus, his opinions were highly regarded and the handful of high-ranking listeners sitting at the table with him was extremely attentive.
“Mr. President, Mr. Secretary of State, and the Secretaries of War and the Navy,” he began as if giving a lecture, “I wish I had better news for you but I don’t. Despite our best efforts, we still have no firm idea what causes yellow fever, how to prevent it, and how to cure it. And all this is despite offering a ten thousand dollar reward to the person who finds the cause and cure. As a result, of course, we’ve been inundated by suggestions that were both plausible and insane.”
“I can only imagine,” said President Chester Arthur. “But do any of them have merit? We have had thousands of men go down with the fever and, while many have recovered or are recovering, others have died and the disease has become a catastrophe.”
“Well, sir, we have pretty well laid to rest the twin ideas that Negro soldiers are immune to it or that it is caused by breathing bad air. We are now of the opinion that it is caused by germs and not by bad air. Since Negro soldiers have also caught the fever, we know that they are not inherently immune because of their African heritage. It is small consolation, but Spanish soldiers are suffering just as badly.”
Blaine shook his head angrily. “I don’t give a damn about Spanish soldiers. I want our boys protected from this scourge.”
President Arthur turned away. All across the country blame for the disease was falling on Blaine for being such a strong supporter and instigator of the war. He was being pilloried in newspapers and on the floor of Congress as the man who had caused the deaths of so many young men. The American people were better able to handle wounds and deaths in battle than they were from disease. That there had been enormous numbers of fatalities during previous wars was ignored for the simple reason that the war in Cuba was a foreign war in a strange and foreign land. What are we doing there? This was a simple question that was being asked loudly and often. Why had we gone in in the first place, and why don’t we just get the hell out and leave Cuba for the Cubans?
“Are there any serious leads?” asked Arthur.
“A Cuban doctor named Carlos Finlay seems to think the disease is caused by and spread by mosquitoes. Perhaps the mosquitoes carry germs that pass into the human bloodstream much in the manner that rats carried plague-infected fleas that bit people and spread that disease. Right now the idea of mosquitoes as a source is as good an idea as anyone else has.”
Blaine showed his disbelief. “Even if true, how does one eliminate mosquitoes? Hopefully not one at a time,” he snorted contemptuously.
Hamilton showed his frustration. “Of course not! The obvious tactic is to find out how and where the little creatures live and breed and stamp out those places, and this is what we are now doing. To the best of our knowledge, they live in swamps and stagnant water and there are literally tens of thousands of potential breeding spots in Cuba. Unfortunately, it will take a long while to determine if the efforts to clean up the breeding grounds will be successful. It should also be noted that the fever does not attack people in colder climes, which lends some credence to the mosquito theory.”
“In the meantime,” Arthur said sadly, “our boys are sickening and dying.”
“Sadly, sir, these things take time and sometimes lots of time and with no guarantee whatsoever that we are on the right track.”
“What can we do?” Blaine said sadly.
Admiral Hamilton shook his head sadly. “The only feasible thing we can do now is see to it that our boys get to colder weather as soon as possible.”
* * *
King Alfonso XII sagged back in his chair. He felt ill. He had turned the offending telegram face down so he wouldn’t have to look at it, would not have to confront the disaster it represented. The Spanish forces in all of Cuba had surrendered to the Americans. Even those divisions far away had been ordered to surrender by General Weyler.
There was no way to keep the tragedy a secret. The cable had arrived without being encoded. Now all of Madrid was aware that Cuba, the jewel of the empire that had been Spanish for nearly four hundred years, had been surrendered. And worse, it had been surrendered to those that the Holy Mother Church still referred to as heretics. Outside the palace there was rioting and buildings were being burned. Alfonso wondered if there would be a thirteenth Alfonso or would he be the end of the imperial line.
Prime Minister Canovas was pale with disbelief. “We outnumbered them, we sent a fleet, we had good generals. I don’t understand this.”
Former Prime Minister Praxedes was blunt. “We sent an army of conscripts that was poorly trained and inadequately armed and led. We then sent them thousands of miles away from their homes to fight a war they didn’t understand. The soldiers sympathized with the rebels and didn’t want to fight. That we outnumbered the Americans is irrelevant. How many times have you seen a small vicious dog beat a larger dog in a fight?”
“We’re talking about armies, not dogs,” Canovas said angrily.
“Spain will become a second-rate power,” said the king.
“With profoundest respects,” said Praxedes, “Spain began to become a second-rate power when the Armada was destroyed in the sixteenth century. The collapse was completed during the Napoleonic wars. We are a second-rate power, and if we don’t do something to prevent a further brutal collapse, Spain will become a total irrelevancy in the world of nations.”
“What would you have me do?” asked the king.
Praxedes answered. “We must accept the fact that our empire is largely gone. We have lost Cuba and Puerto Rico. We must negotiate the best treaty we can with the United States. All that we have left are the Philippine Islands and a few specks of land in the Pacific along with our territories in North Africa. If the Americans desire them, they can take the Philippines from us without any effort whatsoever. Those islands are again in a state of rebellion and we will not be able to crush it. We do not have an army, and even if we did, we have almost no navy; therefore, we would have no way of sending it to the Philippines.”
“What do you propose?” asked a despondent Canovas.
“That we sell everything to the Americans,” Praxedes answered. “They can claim Cuba and Puerto Rico by right of conquest, and we will not be able to hold on to the Philippines. If the Americans want them, they can take them at any time. So too can the British and the Germans. I’ve received a telegram from a friend of mine in Berlin saying that there is pressure on the Kaiser to annex the islands. I suggest we take whatever we can get for the remnants of our overseas empire and begin to rebuild.”
Alfonso smiled wryly. “Then we will offer the Philippines to the highest bidder. And God help the winner. He will have to fight the rebels.”
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Epilog
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S
arah walked barefoot through the cool water. Even though the water in the pond only came up to her calves, it was marvelously refreshing. The weather in Maryland this summer morning was seasonably warm and promised to get hot. She had stripped off her outer clothing and enjoyed the play of the breeze against her body.
“You’re beautiful,” said Martin. “Come down to me and we’ll make another baby.” Like Sarah, Martin was dressed in his underclothing. They were far enough away from the main house and hidden by trees and bushes to be unconcerned about privacy.
“Baby number one is only six months old and I am not yet ready for a second. Young Martin Junior is more than enough.” Young Martin’s birth had been difficult and there were serious doubts as to whether they should have another. “And I am truly thankful that Jack and his fiancée are back in the house watching him. I would love to see him change a diaper with only one arm. You have enough trouble with two.”
“We could use one of Doctor Condom’s magic devices,” he pleaded.
“All right,” she relented with a warm smile. She got a condom from her handbag, affixed it to his manhood, and, after a few moments of exquisitely tender foreplay, lowered herself onto his body.
When they were done, she smiled, kissed him gently, and lay beside him. “That was much better than on a pile of tents,” she said and the two of them laughed. It was their personal joke and they hoped they never stopped thinking it was funny. “Are you still not going to Washington for the dedication?”
“I’ll stay here with you if you don’t mind. The deification of the late George Armstrong Custer is a little too much to stomach. I prefer what Kendrick wrote in his book.”
On the blanket beside them lay the book in question. The title was
George Armstrong Custer—Fool or Hero?
by James Kendrick. The subtitle said that Kendrick had been with Custer from the Little Big Horn to his admittedly tragic death from his wounds in Havana. The book was a runaway bestseller and had made a fortune for James Kendrick. He and his Cuban wife were being lionized in New York.
Sarah and Martin agreed with Kendrick’s conclusions regarding Custer. He had been brave to the point of recklessness, but he had not been a fool. He simply had too much confidence in his ability to accomplish any goal. As a result, he had involved the United States in the most controversial war in its history.
Alongside that book was another book. This was a collection of photos by the photographer, William Pywell. The graphic pictures of so many dead and wounded were a further condemnation of the late Custer and what many felt was his unnecessary war. Pywell had even managed to get some clear action shots of soldiers advancing, fighting, and being killed.
An equestrian statue to Custer was to be dedicated on the Mall in front of the Capitol Building. He would be on a mighty stallion and waving a sabre. Some of the critics said that he should be facing backwards since he had been such a horse’s ass. They were in a minority. Most of the country thought he was a hero and a martyr, although a deeply flawed one.
Libbie Custer would be there along with many in the government including President Chester Arthur. Libbie had become a recluse and a gaunt and graying shadow of her once dynamic self. She clearly blamed her husband’s death on her machinations on his behalf. Some of her friends thought she was losing her mind. After the ceremony she would return to her home in Monroe, Michigan.
When Martin resigned his commission, he had almost totally severed himself from the Army. As he’d explained to Sarah, the Army would contract in size and he would once again be either a captain or, if the Army threw him a bone, a major. He would then be doomed to spending the next twenty years in crude frontier outposts, all the while begging for promotion to lieutenant colonel. Sarah said she would go wherever he went, but he would not burden her with that kind of life. No, his military career was over. As he told her and anyone else who asked, it had been wonderful being a general, but he would never again achieve that rank. Nelson Miles was the Army’s commanding general.
As her husband, Martin was learning the ins and outs of her business investments and finding that he was as good at it as she. They would be good partners in commerce as well as in bed.
The loss of so many good men in Cuba was a constant source of sadness and disgust. Almost two thousand Americans had died in combat and another five thousand were in their graves as a result of the fevers that finally struck both armies with savage ferocity. Nor did the fever respect rank. Hancock had died, along with Benteen and Crooks. Even so, there would still not be openings for a too-young brigadier in a shrunken army. Seniority would again rule.
One result of the devastating disease was that Cuba was virtually unoccupied by the American military. The Cubans had won. The United States had taken Hawaii as a consolation prize and had purchased the Philippines from Spain for a nominal sum. Martin and many others wondered if this had been a wise decision.
“Martin, I did tell you that Ruta and her stable-boy lover were coming over this evening, didn’t I?”
Martin guffawed. Haney and Ruta would never commit to being married. They had made that abundantly clear. He had a job allegedly administering her horses. This gave him a cottage on her property and access to the main house anytime they wished and to hell with what anyone else thought.
“Sarah, this is not a bad life. Perhaps we should spend the rest of the day here and make love a few more times.”
“Perhaps indeed,” she said with a smile as she watched the clouds move majestically overhead. The clouds were white and fluffy. There were no storm clouds on the horizon. At least not yet.
