“Are you implying that you don’t think I’m after your money?”
She reached over and tapped him on the arm. “I’m usually a good judge of character and, no, I don’t think you’d try to seduce me for my wealth.”
She stood and walked to the window. “So now can you tell me when you’re leaving for Cuba?”
“It’s still vague and subject to change, but a couple of weeks at the most,” he said softly, and he saw sadness in her face.
He stood by her at the window and she put her head on his shoulder. He would not tell her that his regiment was going to be the spearhead of the invasion. She didn’t need that worry. Then it dawned on him that she actually would be worried.
* * *
Secretary of State James G. Blaine was convinced that someday he would be President of the United States, replacing George Armstrong Custer, the man he considered to be a flaming horse’s ass. Blaine was also convinced of America’s future in the world. The United States would become an even greater power than she currently was and the only way to do that was to explode beyond the limitations of her continental boundaries. Thus, the first steps in developing an overseas American empire involved taking Cuba and Puerto Rico from the rotten Spanish empire.
When those lands became under American control, it would be time to look farther afield, to such places as the Philippines, or Hawaii, or even lands near the Isthmus of Panama where a canal might someday be built. Since everyone in Europe was taking chunks out of China’s carcass, he thought that an American equivalent to Hong Kong on the Chinese coast might be feasible.
Blaine sighed. He was thinking big, perhaps too big. First Cuba had to be taken. Thus, this day he was quietly and secretly meeting with a representative of the Cuban insurgents.
“Señor Cardanzo,” he said with a look of warmth he didn’t feel. “It’s a pleasure to meet with a representative of those also fighting Spain.”
Cardanzo was a small dark man in his forties. Blaine was not comfortable dealing with black men as equals and Cardanzo sensed it.
“I’m proud and honored to meet you, Mr. Blaine. Now, to be blunt, how can we help each other?”
Good, Blaine thought, let’s get this over with. “We need information, and you and others in your movement are in a position to provide it. We would like to know the disposition of the Spanish army and the strength of the Spanish defenses.”
Cardanzo was puzzled. “Why are you asking this and not representatives of your army or navy?”
“Let’s just say that our intelligence-gathering resources are not what they should be. Also, I am in a position to offer you something after the Spanish are expelled.”
Cardanzo smiled. “Independence?”
“Perhaps in a while, a very short while, we would be able to support Cuban independence. We would have to remain in charge to ensure a peaceful turnover to the Cuban population.”
“Would you feel that way if we were white?”
“Your candor is appreciated and you are correct. If you and your compatriots were white we would not have many of the concerns we have. Let’s face it, Mr. Cardanzo, the only successful nations in the world today are those governed by white people. If you want to see what could happen if unprepared non-whites are in charge, you have to look no farther than the bloodbaths that took place in Haiti and the constant revolutions that are occurring in those Central and South American nations that were once the property of Spain.”
Cardanzo was not impressed by that logic. “You realize, of course, that if the tyranny of Spain is replaced by the tyranny of the United States, there will be continued fighting.”
Blaine leaned back in his chair. “Is that a threat, sir?”
“Hardly. My people would not ever want to fight their liberators. But it could be a statement of reality. My people want independence, not simply a change. However, being controlled by America would be far better than being the enslaved property of Spain. Yes, we will provide you with what information we can glean and we will trust you to do what is right for the people of Cuba. After all, I’m certain that you would not want an army in Cuba during the fever season. Thousands of your soldiers would likely die if that should happen.”
“Wouldn’t that happen to the Spanish army?”
“Of course, Mr. Blaine, but Spain doesn’t care about the poor creatures in its army, while the United States does.”
With that they shook hands and Cardanzo departed. He had barely left the room when Blaine muttered “nigger” under his breath.
Outside, Cardanzo met with a couple of his compatriots. “It is as I feared,” he said. “The United States wants us to be their colony. The only question is for how long. Forever is a possibility. But waiting for a new president to be elected and replace Custer is more likely. If we make it difficult for the Americans, perhaps they will let us go sooner. First, they have to defeat the Spanish and we will help them. Then, if necessary, we will deal with the Americans just as we are now dealing with Spain.”
* * *
Master Sergeant Haney spoke very little Spanish. Thus, he was somewhat surprised when he was chosen by Colonel Ryder to scout the lands and bays near the city of Matanzas.
He was slipped into Cuba by a small and foul smelling fishing boat. When he got off in the middle of the night, he was greeted by another man who told him in surprisingly good English that his name was Diego. Diego added that he was a member of the rebellion, which Haney hoped was the case. If not and he was a Spanish army officer, Haney was likely to spend several years in a miserable prison if he wasn’t hanged outright. What happened to the men of the Eldorado was on everyone’s mind.
Diego led him inland, carefully staying off the dirt paths he called roads. “I think this is want you want to see,” he said as they breasted a gentle hill just a mile or two inland from the city.
Haney nodded and looked around. The hill was only a few hundred feet high. It wasn’t much of a vantage point, but it would do. From it he could see the city of Matanzas itself. He estimated the population at about ten thousand. The bay looked like it could handle a number of good-sized ships, but it also looked like it was silting up. That, he concluded, would severely limit the number and size of ships that could unload at any one time.
He also wondered why the Navy hadn’t sent someone along with him. He’d asked that question when Colonel Ryder suggested that he volunteer and was told that the Navy was too busy trying to round up ships to spend time scouting inland Cuba. They said it was the Army’s business.
“I don’t see any fortifications,” Haney said. Even though it was night, the moon and stars allowed him to see that the land was undisturbed. What he assumed were sugar cane and tobacco were growing in fields, but no entrenchments or cannons could be seen.
“That’s because there aren’t any. All the work being done to protect Cuba is happening just outside Havana. There they are digging in like beavers, building fortifications that will stop any army. I understand the Spanish are now bitterly regretting tearing down Havana’s defensive walls only a few years ago. Little places like Matanzas have been left to their own devices.”
Haney didn’t like hearing about the fortifications around Havana, but his job was to scout out the Matanzas area. “Are you telling me there are no troops here?”
Diego laughed. “Of course there are soldiers, just not too many of them. I estimate several companies, perhaps a battalion. You should be able to crush them when you attack.”
Haney was too much of a realist to accept such optimistic estimates. After all, hadn’t Custer said the Indians would run when the Seventh Cavalry approached? Unconsciously he rubbed a scar on his shoulder where a Sioux arrow had stuck in his flesh. He still remembered the pain when a surgeon pulled it out.
Haney was about to comment when he heard voices. They were close and getting closer. Shit, he thought. The two men quickly tried to make themselves invisible in the dark.
Three Spanish soldiers passed them only a few fee
t away. They were talking loudly and not paying much attention to the world around them. Garrison duty and going out on the occasional patrol were not too arduous despite the war, Haney concluded.
He was about to exhale and thank their lucky stars when Diego suddenly screamed, bolted from his hiding place, and slashed at one of the soldiers with his machete, ripping the man’s throat.
The wounded soldier fell while the other two wheeled in disbelief. Christ, thought Haney. What the hell had just happened? He pulled his revolver and a Bowie knife and joined in the assault. Diego was wrestling with a second soldier while the third tried to bring his rifle to bear. Haney plunged his knife into the belly of the third and ripped upwards. The man screamed and fell back. Haney waited until he had a chance and then used the handle of his revolver to crack the skull of the man wrestling with Diego. He hit the man several more times before the soldier let go and went limp. Haney checked to see if any were alive. None were. Even the man he’d stabbed had stopped breathing and was gazing at the night sky with blank eyes.
Diego staggered to his feet. He was covered with blood, but most of it wasn’t his. “Thank you, my friend. You saved my life.”
Haney wiped his knife on the shirt of one of the dead soldiers. “Yeah, and your bullshit action might have gotten us killed.”
“You are right,” he said contritely. “But when I saw their uniforms I couldn’t help myself. They are from a regiment formed and led by Gilberto Salazar. They are the ones who massacred your fellow Americans on that ship. More important to me, they are the devils who slaughter Cubans they think are rebels just because they are wandering and looking for food. A while back, they killed my sister, but not until many soldiers abused her. When the soldiers were through with her, they cut her throat and left her to bleed to death on the ground. She was fourteen.”
“I’m very sorry,” said Haney as he looked around nervously, “but these guys’ comrades are going to be looking for them very soon. You better get me back to that dinky boat so I can get the hell out of here.”
“You’re right that we must move, but there is no hurry. They won’t be missed for several hours and we will be many miles from here by then.”
“Diego, where do you want to go?”
The Cuban laughed. “I want you to see Havana. But before then, tell me what a sergeant major does in the army. I have a lot I need to know.”
Haney thought for a moment before responding. Screw it, he decided. “A sergeant major beats the shit out of untrained recruits until they get it in their heads that they have to obey orders and can’t go and do what they want. And sometimes I have to talk very firmly to undisciplined officers, too.”
Diego flinched. “I understand your message. What I did was unforgivable and it will not happen again. Unfortunately, this lack of discipline is common in our army. Every man seems to think he is a general and, therefore, enabled to lead. Sometimes there is chaos. May I borrow you to help instill discipline?”
“Let’s get back from Havana first.”
* * *
Sarah yawned. She’d had at least one glass of wine too many. She wondered if she was slurring her words and decided she didn’t care. Sarah and her good friend Ruth Holden were on the second floor of Sarah’s house in the country, residing on couches in the large master bedroom. Ruth was going to spend the night in her own room down the hall.
The two women had changed into their nightgowns and were also wearing light robes. No servants were present. They could talk candidly without a housekeeper’s sometimes very large ears picking up gossip.
“Do you miss marriage?” Ruth asked.
“Sometimes very much. Walter was a good man, considerate and kind. He made me feel secure and he genuinely cared for me. I was genuinely fond of him.” Although, she thought, that fondness had not necessarily translated into love.
“That isn’t what I meant. Do you miss the physical part of marriage?”
Sarah felt herself flush. “Sometimes. Despite the fact that he was older, neither of us was all that experienced as lovers; but we both learned quite rapidly. We enjoyed each other immensely. What about you?”
“I miss it as well. You are aware, of course, that I was never actually married. Jean was a lover, nothing more. And yes, I do miss the exciting physical part. You are aware that he was a thief, aren’t you?”
Sarah giggled. The wine was winning. “I thought there might be something like that from statements you made.”
“Yes. When we weren’t romping in bed, Jean would go out and rob rich Parisians. He stole money, usually negotiable securities, and, rarely, jewelry. Jewelry was too special and unique and he could only sell it for a fraction of its real value. Sometimes he would melt it down for the gold, but that was too risky. Money and negotiable securities were a different matter. The chaos of the war with Prussia and the later revolution permitted him to steal almost at will. I don’t think he ever hurt anyone. He didn’t have to. My job was to take the plunder to Switzerland and convert it to Swiss or British money.”
“That’s a lot more exciting than farming,” Sarah said as she poured them each some more wine. She had to concentrate on not spilling any.
Ruth continued. “It got too exciting. Jean got swept up by the police and was executed along with several thousand others. Those were terrible, horrible, days in Paris. I know he was killed because I portrayed myself as the grieving widow and they let me identify him. Of course, they had no idea he was anything more than a low-ranking rebel, so they let me take his body and have him buried. Ironically, he was never a rebel, just a thief.
“When he died, I went to Switzerland and got a number of bank drafts and traveled to Italy. From there I took a ship from Naples and came to the U.S. I opened a number of accounts in my name and here I am, a very rich but lonely widow.
“I can’t imagine you being lonely too long.”
“Nor can I, but I too am going to be choosy. As you’ve found out, there are too many men who want only money. Still, I do very much miss having a man in bed with me. Have you ever thought of inviting Colonel Ryder to your boudoir?”
“It’s crossed my mind,” Sarah said with a smile. “It may happen but not just yet.”
“When you fantasize, is it with Ryder? When I think about doing it with someone, I often think of being in bed with that charming but rough Sergeant Haney. It may surprise you but I’ve managed to speak with him on a number of occasions. We have a lot in common. He comes from a country that is enslaved, Ireland, and I come from a country that people insist doesn’t exist, Poland.”
Ruth poured herself some more wine. “Haney reminds me of a reasonably honest version of Jean. Since I can’t have him just now, I usually just pleasure myself or use one of the delightful toys I brought back from France. Once I even did it with a woman.”
“Dear God!”
“It was pleasant enough from a physical standpoint but totally unsatisfying emotionally. And no, I am not going to suggest that we even think of trying it.”
Sarah just laughed and shook her head. “Good. I’m not that desperate and hopefully never will be.”
The conversation was getting entirely too personal, but Ruth did have a point. In the past she’d thought of Walter being in bed with her and how they used to please each other. Lately, however, her thoughts had turned to wondering how Martin Ryder’s hands might feel on her body. On rare occasions she had indeed pleasured herself and, now loosened by alcohol, thought that tonight might be another one. Since Ruth would be sleeping down the hall, she would have to make sure she was quiet. On the other hand and given the amount of wine they’d drunk, it was possible that nothing would awaken Ruth.
She also wondered what kind of toys Ruth had brought back from Europe and precisely what they did. She decided she really wasn’t ready to find out.
* * *
Even though the nearly impoverished village was only a little more than a day’s walk from Havana, it took almost a week for news of the coming
war with the United States to reach it. As soon as their work was done, the people gathered before the small church to discuss what it all meant. They had heard of the United States, but other than the name, knew nothing about it. Nor were they in the slightest bit thrilled at the thought of a new war. A truce had been called in the long and savage war of liberation between the rebels who wanted independence and the loyalists who wanted Spain to remain in control of Cuba.
The village did not have a name. It was nothing more than a cluster of several dozen huts and hovels and a small church large enough to hold the women and children. This was satisfactory, since the men never went to mass anyhow, at least not before their own funerals. The road through it was little more than a dirt path.
Cuba was exhausted. Both sides had been bled and mauled. Rosita Garcia had lost two cousins in the bloodletting. She had always been afraid that her one son would be conscripted by one side or the other or, worse yet, foolishly volunteer to fight. So far he had resisted that temptation.
“What side are we going to be on?” asked one field worker.
“It doesn’t much matter,” answered one of his friends. “Whatever side we’re on will be the loser.”
Rosita thought she understood. Most of the people in the village sympathized with the rebels. Spain was a far-off land that had mismanaged Cuba with cruelty and indifference. The rebels represented the future, but when would the future arrive? What would happen if the Yankees and Spain patched up their differences and there was no war after her village and thousands of others like it declared for independence? Why, it would be a bloodbath, she answered herself.
Two priests were present and they’d begun screaming at each other. One was pro-independence while the other felt that Spain ruled Cuba through the grace of God and Holy Mother Church, and that any act of defiance would be a grievous sin.
Others were more pragmatic. “Will we have enough to eat?” asked Rosita. “What will we do if either army comes in and takes what little food we have.”
1882: Custer in Chains Page 7