1882: Custer in Chains (6 page)
Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
“Not anymore,” he said with a laugh.
“I also have vices, although I don’t think they’ll consign me to hell. I like an occasional cigarette and a nice brandy is a delight. I also like horseback riding, but I cannot abide riding side-saddle. If circumstances permit, I like to wear men’s clothing and go out in the country where I can ride like a man. Since I am small I can wear a hat and most will think I’m a boy.”
“I would never make such a mistake.”
They stood and began the walk back to the hotel. Ryder realized that he would have to go back to his damn regiment and he didn’t want to. He wanted the evening to continue.
“Do you consider Washington a great city, Colonel?”
The question surprised him. “No. Our nation’s capital in no way compares with New York or Boston or Philadelphia.”
“What about Paris, London, or Rome?”
“If I’d ever been to them, I might be better able to answer the question. From what I know and have read, Washington is nothing compared with them. Quite frankly, Washington is still very squalid.”
“Agreed,” she said. “President Custer wants us to be a great country, but we can’t be one until our capital is a great one as well. Look around you. The White House is lovely, but it is miniscule compared with the palaces of Europe or even the new palaces of the wealthiest Americans. Our Washington Monument has been under construction for almost forty years and still isn’t completed. And the original city plans called for a park in the mall running from the Capitol Building to the Potomac, but what exists there now is a weed-choked field with the remains of a canal off to its side that has become a sewer. Worse, there are slums all around the city and most of the roads are muddy tracks. And yes, I know that all cities have slums, but ours are terrible and they are so close to the center of government. Something should be done,” she said and laughed at herself. “Oh dear, once again I’ve begun a lecture.”
Ryder thought about suggesting that the two of them tour Europe someday, but decided to wait for another time and place. “May I ask you a question, Mrs. Damon?”
“Only if you call me Sarah and I will call you Martin.”
Ryder grinned like a little kid who had just passed a test he hadn’t studied for. “I would love to take you riding in the country and I would not be offended or shocked if you dressed as you wished.”
“Then give your men Sunday off and pick me up in the morning.”
They were almost at the hotel. They’d been so wrapped up in themselves that they hadn’t noticed that it had gotten dark. Washington in the night was not the safest place in the world and Ryder was suddenly concerned that he’d made a mistake by suggesting that they walk so far.
They were only a dozen or so yards from the hotel door when two men jumped out of an alley and grabbed at Sarah’s purse. She screamed and pulled back. An astonished Martin was staggered by a punch to the top of his head from the second man who pulled a knife and lunged at him.
Ryder regained his balance as best he could and ducked as the knife man lurched past him. He punched the man hard in the kidneys and he dropped to the ground but did not let go of the knife. Ryder stomped on the man’s hand and heard bones break. The man who’d grabbed Sarah’s purse jumped on Martin’s back and began to claw for his throat and eyes.
Suddenly, the attacker screamed and let go. He staggered backwards and Ryder saw Sarah standing there with a long metal hat pin that was nearly a stiletto held tightly in her hand. The man grabbed his crotch and Martin realized just where Sarah had jabbed him.
They’d had enough. The two would-be robbers ran and limped down the street. It had taken only seconds and the few other pedestrians hadn’t had time to react.
Sarah smoothed her clothing. She had begun to shake and was trying to hide it. “Well, that was exciting. Are dinners with you always like this? You are all right, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and are you?”
He reached over and touched her hand. She put her other hand over his. She took a couple of deep breaths and smiled.
“Of course. I may be petite, but I do know how to protect myself. Things like this have happened to me before, as they have to so many women. Now, will I see you Sunday or has this little incident alarmed you?”
◆
Chapter 4
◆
T
he HMS
Shannon
was classified by the Royal Navy as a First-Class Armored Cruiser. She displaced almost six thousand tons and was armed with two ten-inch and seven nine-inch muzzle-loading cannons, along with a miscellany of smaller guns. Her top speed was only twelve knots and, even though she had a steam engine, she still carried masts and a full complement of sails.
Although only constructed in 1875 and recently refitted, the
Shannon
was considered a poorly designed warship. She was slow, had chronic engine troubles, and her coal bunkers were considered inadequate. The
Shannon
was considered a poor investment by the British government. She was, therefore, expendable.
All of this was why Great Britain was interested in either selling her or leasing her to the United States Navy. As bad as the
Shannon
was, she was better than anything in the United States Navy. Nor was the
Shannon
the only warship the British were willing to unload. Several other of her obsolete sister ships were on the market to the highest bidder. James Kendrick was hopeful that the high bidder would be the United States Navy.
Kendrick had come aboard in Baltimore only a couple of days after his White House visit with Libbie Custer. Somehow, the Custers had convinced the Royal Navy to ferry him to Havana. Nor was he the only American on board. Navy Commander George Dewey was also on board along with a young ensign named Paul Prentice who served as his aide.
Relations between the Americans and the British skipper were frosty. The captain didn’t like the idea of turning over his command to a bunch of damned Yankees and made no bones about it. Even though the decision hadn’t been made official or announced, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion. Kendrick and Dewey and the young Prentice stayed out of his way. Kendrick watched as Dewey quietly learned everything he could about the ship that might just be his to command.
“Amazing,” said Dewey. “This ship is only seven or so years old and she’s already obsolete. Naval technology is changing at breakneck speed. Even so, we will still buy her. She’s far, far better than any of the ships we have.”
“How long before we can use her against the Spanish?” Kendrick asked.
“If we bought her yesterday, it would still take several months before she was ready. Logistics is the curse of war. We would have to find and train officers and men to form a crew and then steam about in order to find and resolve all her idiosyncrasies, and I understand she has many. That and gunnery training will all take time. Additional time will be required if we are to sail with other American warships and not get disastrously in each other’s way.”
“Why can’t we rent the crew as well as the ship?”
Dewey laughed hugely. “Believe me, it was considered. Then cooler heads realized that there would be hell to pay in England if any of her sailors got killed fighting under an American flag.”
“I can’t believe she still has a supply of sails.”
“Even in modern ships, sails are needed for two reasons. First, a ship like the
Shannon
can carry only so much coal and supplies of coal are often not readily available. Therefore, she will use her sails and conserve fuel every chance she gets. Second, the engines of a modern ship are picky things. Sometimes they simply break down and, since there are no telegraph lines from ships to other ships or the shore, there must be a means of moving a crippled ship. If not, a ship could become a hulk filled with starving men.”
“Makes sense,” Kendrick conceded.
“There is a third reason I neglected to mention and that is tradition. Far too many senior officers think that a ship without sails is repugnant and they absolutely hate to see the clean lines of a sailing ship spoiled by black coal smoke spewing from a stack. Some days I agree with them.”
There were still clipper ships sailing and Kendrick fondly recalled how graceful and lovely they looked. “Sadly, sailing ships will be either for pleasure or be relegated to a museum.”
“And the world will be less for that,” said Dewey, “yet no sailing ship should ever be in a modern naval battle. Now tell me, what will you do when we arrive in Havana? After all, you are an American.”
Dewey laughed. “We will be in Havana for only a day. It will be a brief courtesy call and the ship’s crew won’t even get liberty. As for me, I will be trying hard to stay out of sight. While they may suspect my presence, I am confident the Spaniards will turn a blind eye to my being here.”
And so it happened. The
Shannon
steamed slowly through the narrow entrance to Havana Harbor and under the guns of the fortresses of Morro Castle and La Cabaña.
“What are you thinking, Commander?” Kendrick asked as they looked at the Spanish fortifications.
“That the forts are centuries old and in disrepair and that the guns are largely rusted relics. Still, they could cause a great deal of damage to any ships trying to navigate the narrow harbor opening before being blown to pieces by modern naval guns.”
The forts were symbols of a bygone age and an empire that had decayed and almost disappeared. But Dewey was correct—even ancient cannons could kill.
They anchored in the harbor only a couple of hundred yards off the city’s waterfront. The buildings were mainly stone and were painted many colors. Havana was a bright and lively city, Kendrick concluded. He said goodbye to Dewey and, along with the
Shannon
’s captain, was rowed in the captain’s boat to the dock. Several political types and one man in what Kendrick presumed was a naval uniform waited for them. Kendrick was nudged away from the short receiving line. Officially, he wasn’t there.
He picked up his one suitcase and looked around. Finally, he saw Salazar standing beside a man in the uniform of a Spanish general. Christ, he thought, who is that?
He approached the two men. Salazar greeted him formally. He seemed slightly uncomfortable with the other man beside him. “Welcome to Cuba, Mr. Kendrick,” Salazar said, “and may I introduce you to Major General Valeriano Weyler, the recently arrived commander of all the Spanish army forces in Cuba.”
* * *
Sarah was a superb rider. She took the uneven ground with ease and directed her horse to confidently jump small obstacles. She and the mare she’d chosen seemed to flow across the ground as one. Better, she looked delightful in the specially made denim jeans she wore. They were designed for her by the Levi Strauss and Company and fit her well. Ryder happily concluded that no one would mistake her for a boy.
It occurred to him that she was likely a better rider than he and she commented on it when they paused to give their horses a rest.
“You ride for pleasure,” he said, “while we in the cavalry ride for work. We use horses to get to our destination and generally dismount to accomplish our goals.”
“Such as when fighting Indians?”
“Precisely. Fighting on horseback largely went out when someone invented the rifle, and certainly diminished further when Mr. Gatling invented the machine gun. Most of the men in the Seventh Cavalry at the Little Big Horn hadn’t known which end of a horse was the front when they enlisted and that had been only a few months earlier. Even though they were listed as cavalrymen, they were not expert riders. Few soldiers are. As for me, even though West Point taught me to ride without hurting myself, my specialty was artillery and now I’m an infantry officer. I defer to your skills as a rider as well as your charm.”
She laughed and decided it was time to eat. They had brought sandwiches in their saddlebags and were pleased that neither the meat nor the cheese tasted too much like horse after their ride. A bottle of a local and mediocre white wine had been packed in ice and hadn’t gotten too warm, and they drank from small pewter glasses that had also been carefully packed.
“I’m enjoying myself,” she said and Ryder beamed. They were sitting in the shade of a large oak tree while their horses grazed and rested. “I just wonder how much longer it will be before you and my brother and all those other young men go off to war.”
“I hope it’s not too soon,” he answered solemnly. “First, we’re simply not ready although we’re one of the better trained regiments and, second, I rather like getting to know you.”
“Some women might think your comments very bold, Martin.”
“Do you?”
“No. Like you, I’m enjoying all this. But you didn’t answer my question—when do you think you’ll be leaving?”
“At first we were told a month at the most, although the dates keep changing as reality sets in. The truth is, nobody really knows when we’ll depart. Someday the Army will tell us that we should have been there yesterday. The Navy is gathering ships and some units have begun moving towards Florida. Since rail connection to most parts of Florida is miserable at best, those already heading to Florida are southern units. My regiment will depart by ship from Baltimore.”
“And where will you land, and please don’t think I’m a spy. I’m no Rose Greenhow.”
Martin laughed at the idea of her comparing herself to the notorious Confederate spy. “I didn’t think you were, and it doesn’t matter. I can’t tell you because I don’t know. I don’t even know who is going to command this army, much less where we’ll land. I sometimes wonder if anybody has a clue.”
* * *
President Custer slammed his fist down on the desk in his office. “There is no way in hell that that goddamned son of a bitch Winfield Scott Hancock is going to command my army.”
Army Secretary Robert Lincoln shook his head. “Even though he is not now in the Army, Hancock is head and shoulders above anyone who currently
is
in the Army. He’s commanded large forces and many people feel he was the man responsible for our victory at Gettysburg, and not Meade.”
“I don’t give a rat’s fart what people think. Hancock ran against me in the last election and damn near took it. I am not going to give him a chance to do it again and next time win just because he’s the country’s latest war hero. No, the Army will be led by Nelson Miles.”
“Miles is a good Indian fighter, but that’s about it,” Lincoln said. “He’s never led a large force, and he doesn’t seem to inspire confidence in those he commands. Admittedly he’s brave, but he’s vain and stubborn, while Hancock is a proven fighter.”
“I don’t care what he inspires. Look, if I can’t have Miles, then I will command in person.”
With that, the others in the room looked aghast. Navy Secretary Hunt was the first to protest. “Sir, you know it is against tradition, perhaps even law, for a sitting president to leave the United States.”
“Maybe it’s time for the tradition to change.”
Secretary of State James Blaine decided it was time to intercede. “Mr. President, if you leave the country, who will be in charge? Vice President Arthur? You cannot be two places at once and even with the telegraph, you cannot deal with the problems of Congress and the nation.”
“Shit,” muttered Custer, accepting defeat. “But I want Miles and that’s that.”
Reluctantly, they agreed that Nelson Miles would command the invasion force and the discussion moved to the subject of the Navy. Secretary Hunt was more than a little pleased at the progress he’d made.
“Gentlemen, the three warships we bought from Great Britain are currently being refitted at Baltimore. They have been renamed the
Atlanta, Boston
, and
Chicago
. The
Atlanta
is ready to sail and will escort a number of troopships that are gathering there. We will utilize several of the smaller steam sloops to also protect the convoy. We are also arming and commissioning a number of civilian ships and have chartered several hundred other civilian ships as transports. I am confident that we can land upwards of fifteen thousand men in a first wave against the Spanish in Cuba. The only question I have is precisely where shall they land?”
“Well, it can’t be right at Havana,” said Lincoln. “That place is too heavily fortified. Our men would be slaughtered. Nor can it be Santiago. It’s too far away, several hundred miles, in fact. We would have to fight our way across the length of Cuba and that’s a very long way. If we want to get the campaign over before either the hurricane or fever seasons strike, we have to get closer.”
“Matanzas,” said Hunt. “It’s a small city about fifty crow-fly miles east of Havana and it has a decent harbor. Not a big harbor, but one that can handle a number of ships at a time. The troops can land outside the harbor while the ships carrying supplies can use the docks in the harbor.”
Custer nodded. “I like it, but is it well defended?”
Hunt winced. “We’ve just established a naval intelligence unit headed by one Lieutenant Theodorus Mason, but I’m afraid we know very little about the defenses at Matanzas.”
“Who would?” asked Custer.
Secretary of State Blaine smiled. “Why, I suppose the Cubans would.”
* * *
James Kendrick rapidly came to the conclusion that Salazar was serious about having Spain’s side of the story told. He was put up in a small suite of rooms at one of Salazar’s mansions on the outskirts of Havana. He was only a few minutes ride from the harbor and wasn’t particularly surprised when, the day after his arrival, his host practically ordered him to ride with him to the harbor. The Spanish fleet was arriving.
They left their horses a few blocks from the waterfront and walked the rest of the way, along with just about everyone in the city. What they saw truly was impressive. Both of Spain’s battleships had made port and they were accompanied by a number of steam sloops and smaller gunboats. The battleships were the
Vitoria
and the
Numancia
. Salazar proudly informed him that they displaced more than seven thousand tons and had a number of cannons that fired shells of more than six inches. He added that four cruisers were also en route to reinforce the Spanish fleet.
Kendrick had to admit that the grey bulk of the warships was menacing. The ships were functional and, in his opinion, ugly. They had none of the graceful lines of the sailing ships that had become obsolete. A pity, he thought, but why should the instruments of war and killing be graceful and lovely?
