1882: Custer in Chains (24 page)
Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
“This place stinks,” said Lang, “and not just because we haven’t bathed in a month of Sundays.”
Between the two armies, most of the dead had been removed, but not necessarily all of the body parts. The crabs and other scavengers were eagerly devouring what remained, but much was still rotting in the heat.
Haney grinned. “Don’t fret, Captain, the stench will clear up in a couple of months.”
As usual, Haney had worked wonders. Food had been brought up along with fresh water. There was no ice, however, and they drank their gin and tonics warm and with few complaints. There were no worries about the Spanish returning to the attack for a while. They had been badly mauled.
“The wire stopped them,” said Lang. “What we need now is a hell of a lot more wire.”
“Which has been requested,” Ryder answered. “But actually getting it is not going to happen overnight. I’m also impressed with your modifications to that Gatling gun.”
Lang beamed. As he’d planned, he had mounted it on a swivel and lowered the wheels. As a result he had been able to turn it in a wide swath without having to move the entire weapon, enabling him to mow down scores of Spanish. “Like I said, I’m going to patent the modifications and we’ll all be rich. Well, at least I will,” he added cheerfully. “Of course, I’ll modify the rest of our guns free of charge.”
“You’re a fucking saint,” said Haney.
“But they’ll figure out what to do about the wire, won’t they?” asked Barnes. “They aren’t stupid. I’ll bet they’re scouring all of Cuba for wire cutters.”
“That and brave soldiers willing to cut it and pull it away,” added Haney. “My bet is they’ll find them both and we’ll all be in deep shit. Their next attack will be a real bear to stop.”
Ryder smiled and added a little more gin to his glass from the very elegant crystal decanter that Haney had somehow found and liberated. “Then we’ll have to plan for that fact. Yes, the wire can be circumvented, and maybe even destroyed by cannon fire, but it will still slow them down and mess up their formations. When that happens, we will have to be stronger and more disciplined.”
“And better dug in,” added Barnes. “We need ditches and all kinds of barricades to stop them.”
Ryder agreed, “And that, gentlemen, means that we must dig, dig, and dig some more. Where we can’t get wire, we make do with interlocking tree branches and anything else that will make their lives miserable. The troops won’t like working that hard, but I don’t really care.” He finished his drink and stood. The meeting was over. “Back to work, gentlemen.”
“But I’m not a gentleman,” Haney said with an evil grin.
Ryder nodded. “And you never will be.”
When they left, Barnes signaled Ryder. “Can we talk privately?” he asked. Ryder nodded. He thought he knew what was coming next. “I handled myself poorly during the battle. I don’t think I’m qualified to command a regiment. I’d like someone else to take over the First Maryland.”
“I hope this doesn’t insult you, Jack, but I agree. Things happened all too fast and you were appointed because you happened to be handy.” Kind of like me getting the regiment in the first place, he thought. “With some time to think on it, I’ll get somebody with more experience and you’ll be back on my staff.”
Barnes took a deep breath and smiled wanly. “I thank you. My sister will thank you as well.”
Barnes saluted crisply and departed. Ryder walked across the hill to where he could see down onto the town and the main camp. It was easy to spot the hospital church with the Red Cross painted vividly on it. He focused his telescope on it and saw people walking about. He turned to the place where the nurses were quartered. A canvas tent or room had been built on the roof. He recalled Sarah saying something about the nurses wanting a better place to bathe. He smiled and wondered just what was going on behind that canvas barrier.
* * *
Ruth sat on a stool on the roof. She was dressed only in a thin shift that revealed everything about her body, and she had wished aloud that she was naked. It was the only way one could get truly clean, she’d said, and Sarah had agreed. However, proprieties must be observed no matter how ridiculous they might seem. Even though they were safe behind the canvas walls, they could not run the risk of some soldier or sailor seeing too much and possibly going crazy with lust. Thus, they washed and cleansed themselves as best they could and rinsed with buckets of water pumped up to the roof. The water ran down a slope on the roof and down gutters. It was a fairly ingenious operation and similar to what the soldiers also had.
Ruth finished and it was Sarah’s turn. She got thoroughly wet and used some of their precious soap to wash herself under her shift. Ruth then slowly poured water over her. The feeling was exquisite and she sighed with pleasure. The great battle was now history and the situation with the wounded was stable. Ships were taking the badly wounded to Florida, while the ones who would recover shortly and be returned to duty stayed behind.
“When this is over and we go back to Maryland, I’ve decided that I’m going to go back to using Ruta as my name and not Ruth.”
Sarah squeezed the water out of her hair. “Fine, but why?”
“Because I’ve suddenly realized that’s who I was and who I want to be. I see Cubans bravely fighting to create a new nation. I would like to see Poland free again. I should be proud of my past. Haney is proud to be an Irishman and maybe his nation will be free as well. Someday I will write a book about my life.”
Sarah laughed as they let the sun dry them. “All of it?”
“Good point. I shall do some discreet editing.”
“Such as romping in the hay with Haney?”
“When I write my memoirs, I’ll leave it in. He won’t mind a bit. So when will you see your beloved general again?”
“Soon, I hope.” So close, but so far away, she thought.
* * *
Custer read the casualty reports with dismay. Despite winning the battle, the United States Army had suffered more than a thousand casualties. The fact that the Spanish had suffered an estimated three times that many meant little. The newspapers were being highly critical of both him and the war. They were openly wondering just when the army was going to move from Matanzas, take Havana, end the fighting, and get the troops home. It was clear that a stalemate was developing. There was a growing call for a change in command. More than one was suggesting that Nelson Miles be replaced by Custer’s nemesis, Winfield Scott Hancock.
At the thought of that possibility, Custer scowled. He accepted the feeling that Nelson Miles might not have been the best choice to command, but who else was there? Sheridan and Sherman had declined because of age and health, and Miles’ contemporaries were as inexperienced as he. Damn it, he thought. Was he doomed to go through a progression of commanding generals as Abraham Lincoln had until he finally got lucky and settled on Ulysses Grant? Too bad Grant was dead, he laughed mirthlessly. And no way in hell was he going to offer the command of anything larger than an outhouse to Winfield Scott Hancock.
“I’ve got to talk to Miles. I can’t sit here in Florida and twiddle my thumbs while the war is going to hell.”
“You can’t leave the United States,” reminded Libbie. “It’s the law.”
Custer snorted. “Actually it’s just a custom, a tradition. There’s no law involved at all. I had Chief Justice Fuller check it out and he agrees. No law, just a strong tradition and custom. Unfortunately, it’s one that’s taken very seriously.”
“Which you would be foolish to break,” she said sternly. “The country is upset enough right now.”
“I also had Fuller check something else, dear wife,” he said smugly. “Did you know that a U.S. Navy warship is considered United States territory? No? Well it is. Thus, if I travel by warship to Cuba, technically I will still be in the United States.”
“Sometimes you surprise me, George.”
“I could be on, say the
Atlanta
and be just a short distance off Cuba and talk with Miles about whatever the hell he is planning on doing and I can do so without ever leaving American soil, or, more precisely, territory.”
Libbie scowled. “It could be dangerous.”
“Fighting a war is dangerous. Losing one is even more dangerous. I have to know what the devil is going on and what Miles is planning to do about it. Everyone says we won a great victory. Wonderful, but why haven’t we followed up on it?”
“What instructions will you leave for Mr. Arthur?”
“Nothing,” he laughed. “I don’t plan on telling him or anyone else. Vice President Chester Arthur and Secretary of State Blaine will be pissed, but I won’t care. It won’t take me long to go from Florida to Matanzas and back. I just want to get the measure of Miles before I make a decision. Maybe all Miles needs to know is that he has my support. On the other hand, maybe he just needs a good kick in the ass to get him started.”
Libbie stood and looked out the window. She was clearly troubled and that was unusual for her. “Why then am I feeling so uncomfortable?”
“Maybe women are meant to worry. It’s their nature. What could happen, Libbie? Hell, I’ll be on a warship and surrounded by a score of cannons and a couple of hundred sailors to protect me. Like I said, what the hell could go wrong?”
* * *
Manuel Garcia loved school and learning. What he didn’t like was the scrawny and opinionated old man who was their teacher. Manuel had the sneaky feeling that he now knew as much as Professor Sanchez, the old goat who tormented the students and smacked them with his ruler when they gave wrong answers. Or when they asked questions he couldn’t answer. Sometimes he thought that Sanchez was a fraud. Sanchez was also in love with anything Spanish and worshipped King Alfonso. He hated the Cuban rebels and the United States with equal burning passion.
He thought it would be wonderful if the king’s recruiters grabbed every young man in Cuba to fight the rebels. Saying this could have been dangerous in a village where most of the people thought it would be nice if Alfonso was trampled by a herd of pigs. Lucky for him, the villagers thought of the professor as eccentric, not harmful.
Manuel sometimes thought of complaining to his mother, but he was afraid that she would yank him from the school and the pleasures it still gave him despite Señor Sanchez’s attempts to humble him. He loved learning and was confident he would outlive and outlast Professor Sanchez.
For him to fail at school would also humiliate his mother, a woman he loved dearly and who was trying so hard to raise him and educate him the right way. His father was gone, disappeared into the unforgiving ocean one day when he was fishing, so they were on their own. Manuel’s mother supported them by working the fields and tending other people’s houses. She had hopes that his life would be better than hers had turned out. Some days she was too exhausted to talk. No, he would not burden her with his problems. He would deal with Señor Sanchez in his own way.
Lessons were over and he walked barefoot along the dirt roads. He had one pair of shoes that were starting to pinch him. His mother laughingly despaired. “When will you ever stop growing, you naughty boy,” she would say before hugging him and kissing him on the top of his head. He thought his mother was beautiful and, apparently, so did some of the men in the village. Some of the older men who’d either never married or had lost their wives would come to their home and pay court. Or at least they tried to. She always rebuffed them. She said she would consider remarrying when Manuel was grown and gone. He had mixed emotions about that. He did not want to share her, but he did not want her to waste what remained of her youth. After all, she was nearly thirty.
Right now, his main goals were to protect his mother and stay out of the Spanish Army. It was beginning to look like neither goal was achievable and that depressed him.
◆
Chapter 13
◆
A
raid? Ryder was intrigued. It sure sounded good to him. It would enable his men to strike at the Spanish instead of waiting to be attacked the next time. “Exactly what sort of raid do you have in mind, Captain?”
Lang grinned happily. He was bored. The great battle was now several days past, and he was getting antsy. The victory had been intoxicating and he wanted to drink some more.
“Exactly what we’ll hit remains to be seen, General. What I propose is to go out with a couple of dozen of my best men and actually see what there is to raid. Hell, our patrols have been nonexistent. All of our intelligence comes from our Cuban buddies and we should see things through our own eyes, not theirs.”
“So you don’t trust the Cubans?”
“Oh, some of them I trust a lot, like that Valdez fellow. If I can, I’d like to take him, or at least some of his boys, with me. It’d be kind of like when we’d go out chasing renegade Indians in Texas and we’d have some tame Apaches or Comanches working with us.”
Ryder wasn’t certain any of the Apache or Comanche warriors would have liked being referred to as tame, and the Cubans definitely wouldn’t. “Don’t call Valdez or any of his friends tame. They’re likely to slice you with their tame machetes.”
Lang continued, “Wouldn’t think of it, General. I like my testicles right where they are. At any rate, it’d be easier to hide from the Spanish in this jungle crap that surrounds everything here. Back in Texas, anything larger than a coffee cup could be seen for miles on the barren ground.”
“I seem to recall that,” Ryder said, thinking of his days in the American west. “Will you be taking some of your Spanish-speaking soldiers?”
Lang nodded vigorously. “All of my men speak Spanish at least as well as I do.”
Martin laughed. Lang’s Spanish was very basic and largely involved food, liquor, and getting laid. “Where will you go?”
“I thought I’d try to ride parallel to that goat path that passes for a road along the coast from Matanzas to Havana, at least for a while. First, though, I’d like to make a wide patrol around the Spanish camps and see what’s happening.”
“When will you leave?”
Lang stood. “Do you have to ask permission from Benteen or Miles?”
“Why? Benteen would go along, but I’m not so sure about Miles. I get the feeling that he doesn’t want to offend the Spanish. So we won’t tell him until you come back. It’s always easier to ask forgiveness than permission. By the way, please make sure to come back.”
* * *
It took several days for Diego Salazar to get in to see General Weyler. The general was far too busy writing letters to Governor-General Villate in Havana. When received, the letters would be either rewritten by Villate or simply forwarded to Madrid, with or without comment. Weyler was also exhausted and had only managed to get a good night’s sleep the night before. There had been real concern that the Americans would counterattack. He would not relax until he’d been certain that no such effort by the damned Americans was planned.
“So what did you find on your foray up the hill?” Weyler asked. His face looked puffy, like he’d just gotten out of bed. “And by the way, relax and have a seat.”
Salazar sat down stiffly on a camp chair, wincing from the pain in his groin. He’d aggravated it climbing up the hill. To his annoyance, the German colonel was also present and smiling his superior smile. “As we all suspected, the Americans used barbed wire to control the attack and their Gatling guns to slaughter our men. I think it is safe to say that both came as a surprise.”
“Yet neither should have. We’ve known all along that the Americans had Gatlings although we didn’t realize they had so many up on that damned hill. Worse, none of our troops, including officers, have ever faced them. We’ve also known of the existence of barbed wire, although its use as a military weapon had not occurred to us. From what others have told me, our men did not know what to do when confronted with this terrible wire that not only stopped them but sliced their skin.”
Salazar was mildly annoyed that others had told the general about the wire. “I was able to get within a few feet of the barrier before I decided it was prudent to leave. It is not impenetrable by any means. A determined rush could have pushed through. It would have meant that the men in front would have had their flesh cut by the wire. Those men would have had to have been extremely brave. They would have had to lie down on the wire and allow others to clamber over them and using their bodies as stepping stones. It would have been difficult, but it could have been done. Men with blankets and mattresses could have done the same thing. Further, men with simple wire cutters could have eliminated the wire. I do wonder, though, whether artillery would have destroyed it or simply rearranged it.”
Weyler yawned. “I think you expect too much if you believe that men will voluntarily use their bodies to crush the wire while the hooks are digging into their flesh. And as to wire cutters, they would work but the soldiers would have to wait for the men with the cutters to finish their work. While our men were waiting for the wire to disappear, the Americans would be killing the men cutting the wire and shooting the waiting formations to pieces. And, oh yes, even with holes in the wire barrier, our formations would be reduced to the mobs we saw the other day. Do I state the problem correctly, Major?”
“Yes, sir,” Salazar said glumly.
Weyler turned to the German. “Do you have anything to add, Colonel Helmsdorf?”
The German smiled. He would like to have added that he’d seen the timid way in which Salazar had gone to the wire, but declined. “What I have seen has convinced me that the German Army must have many, many more machine guns and countless miles of barbed wire. With them, the military arts have definitely shifted to the defensive.”
“Interesting,” said Weyler. “However, I am too tired to discuss it now. Salazar, do you have anything else to say?”
“Only that our men will be extremely loath to attack again. The rumors are thick that the wire is ungodly and inhuman. The men are terrified of it. An attack on that hill as long as the barbed wire is in place is, in my opinion, doomed before it begins.”
Weyler nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. “Then we shall not attack the wire.”
* * *
If Custer was irked that the
Atlanta
was not available, he didn’t show it. At least he was able to get the hell away from his detractors on the mainland. Out of sight, out of mind, he thought happily. He felt like a kid playing hooky from school. Even better, if caught no one could punish him.
The
Atlanta
was fully repaired and patrolling off the channel leading to Havana. So too were most of the other American warships, including several old steam sloops. What remained of the Spanish Navy in the Atlantic was in Havana’s harbor, locked up as tight as a bunch of nuns in a convent, as Commodore Bunce had told him. He added that traveling from Florida to the coast off Matanzas would be an easy trip and wouldn’t require taking a major warship away from its duties to carry the president.
So why not enjoy it, Custer had thought. Thus, he had settled on using a converted yacht named the
Dolphin
. There had been several other U.S. Navy ships of that name, the last of which was a brig that had been burned to prevent capture by the Confederates. If he thought it was a bad omen, he didn’t let on.
This current version of the
Dolphin
had both sails and a steam engine. She carried a handful of small cannons and was clearly intended for escort or courier purposes only. Better for Custer, she had a large and luxurious cabin worthy of a traveling President of the United States. She was categorized as an auxiliary cruiser, which was a catchall title for a miscellaneous warship.
Custer took the long slow train to St. Augustine. Not even his position could make the iron beast go faster. The newly constructed tracks did not go all the way to Key West. Going by ship from St. Augustine was the only alternative. He would be away from the telegraph lines and out of touch for the shortest length of time.
A short and extremely fat lieutenant commander named Blondell was the
Dolphin
’s skipper. He didn’t know whether to be honored that the president was on his small warship or annoyed that he’d had to give up his spacious and luxurious cabin for the duration. Regardless, the two men took an instant dislike to each other.
Custer and the
Dolphin
arrived off Matanzas without incident. The ship was expected and a couple of the small warships protecting the anchorage fired off salutes. Custer enjoyed and appreciated it but was frustrated. He was only a couple of hundred yards from Cuban soil but he had promised Libbie that he would not set foot on it. Men waved and cheered and yelled at him to come ashore. He swore and waved back.
Then it was time for a barge bringing General Miles alongside and for the general to come aboard. They spent only a few minutes on deck together. Just enough time to shake hands with everyone and wave to the crowds on the beach while a photographer snapped shots. After that, it was time for privacy. They went to Custer’s cabin and took seats across from each other. Sandwiches were eaten and whisky was served. Custer and Miles had known each other and, while there was a serious lack of affection, there was mutual respect due to each other’s rank. Miles’ trademark handlebar mustache seemed to twitch and he blinked nervously. The general was clearly tense and stressed, which concerned Custer.
Miles spoke first. “I’m glad you’re here. I just wish you could go ashore and see what’s happening and what we are confronting. If you would climb to the top of Mount Haney, you’d see the Spanish army that’s arrayed against us and maybe people in Washington wouldn’t be asking so damn many questions. Unlike some Civil War generals who were mistaken about their enemy’s strength, McClellan in particular, we truly are seriously outnumbered. Our boys are by far the better soldiers, but the Spanish have got some good ones, too. When we finally do move out of our trenches, we will be the attackers and the Spanish will deal us large numbers of casualties.”
This was precisely what Custer didn’t want to hear. “You have upwards of twenty-five thousand men, General. They are the best America has and they are costing a helluva lot of money to feed. What more do you need? Yes, the Navy has stopped the flow of men from Spain, but if you want a large number of reinforcements, say a hundred thousand men, that is highly unlikely to happen. The nation does not believe that a bunch of greasy Spaniards and pro-Spanish Cubans can stand up to American soldiers. And speaking of which, where the hell are our beloved Cuban allies?”
“I’m not going to say the Cubans are useless, General, but that’s pretty damn close. I think there are maybe ten thousand of them scattered throughout the Matanzas area, but nobody really knows. They may or may not be led by someone named Jose Marti or maybe a guerilla named Diego Valdez. By anybody’s standards, they are undisciplined and most of them have no weapons except machetes and what they’ve managed to steal and that includes robbing our boys. They’ve been fighting the Spaniards for a long time and now they expect to be able to lie down and take a nap while we do the rest of the fighting. Our boys are getting pissed off by that kind of attitude.”
“Jesus,” Custer muttered. He took a deep swallow of his whisky. This was more that he didn’t want to hear. He began to regret not bringing either Blaine or Robert Lincoln. Hell, he at least should have brought Libbie. She would have known what to say.
“What do you want from me,” Miles asked, almost plaintively. “If you want my resignation, it’s yours.”
Custer did, but he would not admit it. What he saw before him was a defeated man. There was no spark, no life. The always supremely confident and undeniably brave Major General Nelson Appleton Miles had been given an assignment that was too big for him. Part of Custer wanted to gloat but the practical part realized that he would have to find someone better to replace him. He refused to accept that what Miles was saying was true. He firmly believed that the American soldier was far better than the Spaniard, and that should eliminate the Spanish advantage in numbers.
Off in the distance, some cannon fire boomed. Miles informed him it was Spanish. “They do that every so often. I believe they are trying to annoy us.”
“I do not want your resignation,” said Custer. The look on Miles’ face said that he knew it was a lie.
After some further small talk, the two men shook hands gravely and Miles departed. As the general’s boat was rowed ashore, Custer had an idea. He smiled and turned to the skipper of the
Dolphin
.
“Captain Blondell, I have changed my mind. We will not depart for Florida this afternoon.”
“Sir?”
Custer wrung his hands with glee. “Yes, I now have an overwhelming urge to see Havana, if only from a distance, and I want to go right now.”
Blondell paled. “If we do that we are likely to arrive in the middle of the night. That could be dangerous since the fleet is not expecting us.”
“Nonsense. All we have to do is show up with lights on and bells and whistles and whatever the hell you have blaring away and the Navy will realize we’re harmless.”
“Sir, I still say it’s too dangerous.”
“Are you a coward, Blondell?”
Blondell’s face turned beet red. “Of course not, and I resent the implication.”
“And I resent sitting here off Cuba and arguing with someone who is so junior in rank to me that I shouldn’t even have to acknowledge your existence. I know you’re captain of this ship and God almighty when you’re on it, but I am the president and commander in chief, and if you decline to obey me, your next command will be a very small garbage scow.”
Blondell paled and swallowed. “Very well, sir. We will set off for Havana.”
* * *
Another Spanish cannon fired and caused no damage, merely kicking up dirt a good two hundred yards away from the American lines. The American guns did not respond. It was as if it were beneath their dignity. Ryder gestured for Lang to have a seat in the trench. Lang was filthy and his clothes torn. He looked exhausted, but also happy.
