A short while later, Major Barnes arrived. He was leading a column of huffing infantry. “I got the second battalion and the third is getting organized. They’ll be along shortly.”
“Excellent, Major. Now send men back to bring up as much water as they can carry. Then we set up a steady stream of supplies from the bay to here. I also want patrols out to learn just what the damned Spanish are up to.”
Haney knelt down and handed him a canteen. Ryder took a swallow and nearly choked. “What the hell is this?”
“Irish whisky, sir. I save it for special occasions and I think this warrants it. We just won the first round of fighting between them and us and the men are right proud.”
Ryder laughed, agreed, and took another swallow, this time more slowly. They’d only won a skirmish against an outnumbered handful of Spanish, but, yes, it did feel good and so did the whisky. Better, he still had half a canteen full of water to drink after he had another swallow of Haney’s whisky.
◆ Chapter 7 ◆
It took what seemed like an eternity to arrive in St. Augustine. To say that the train line from Charleston to St. Augustine was inadequate was a gross understatement. The gauge was narrow and the tracks and rail bed in such bad shape that the train could only crawl along lest it shake the tracks apart.
The detachment of doctors and nurses working under the flag of the Red Cross had been jammed into passenger cars that moved slowly through the humid Florida heat. It had been so hot inside the cars that a couple of them had passed out. Even though it was clear that efforts were being made to improve the tracks, the ongoing construction further hampered travel.
During one stop, Clara Barton gathered her flock in a local church. There were about fifty of them. Sarah and Ruth hung back, aware that their presence depended solely on how Miss Barton felt about enthusiastic volunteers who lacked professional training. There were some nurses who thought the two women had bought their way into the program and, to a large extent, they were right.
“We need to go to Cuba,” Barton announced.
“I need a bath,” muttered Ruth. Sarah agreed wholeheartedly. Sanitation had been miserable. They’d joked that the hogs on farms they’d passed had sneered at them.
Barton continued. “Towards that end, I have been petitioning and arguing with people in Washington and they have finally agreed. We will go to Cuba.”
This was met with applause and cheers. “However,” she said, “it will have to wait until the Army has moved farther inland so we can set up a hospital in relative safety. That should only be a couple of days. In the meantime, we will move by ship to Key West where, I’ve been told, the conditions are even more primitive there than they have been.”
“I think I will take off all my clothes and jump into the ocean,” said Ruth as they left the church.
“An excellent idea if we can manage to not get arrested,” Sarah said.
“Try not to do that,” said Miss Barton, startling them. They had not heard her come up behind them. “I will need all my nurses. More importantly, the telegraph cable between Key West and Matanzas is now operational. Apparently someone in the government with half a brain had a ship laying cable for several days prior to the attack. Since the ship was showing British colors, the Spaniards left her alone.”
She handed Sarah a piece of paper. “This is an article sent north to the Washington Post. I believe the gentleman in question is an acquaintance of yours and that you are related to people in the First Maryland. You are to be congratulated.” She said and walked away.
“FAMED INDIAN FIGHTER LEADS CHARGE UP CUBAN MOUNTAIN, by James Kendrick,” the article proclaimed.
“Oh my God,” Sarah exclaimed.
It read, “Colonel Martin Ryder commander of the vaunted First Maryland Volunteers and considered by some to be one of the true heroes of the Battle of the Little Big Horn, led a charge by his regiment up the slopes of an enemy-occupied mountain overlooking and threatening the American landings below at Matanzas.
“Braving heavy enemy fire, Ryder and the rest of the regiment attacked the Spaniards, causing numerous enemy casualties and driving them off the peak of the mount. The fighting was intense and sometimes hand to hand. Shortly after taking the high point, the Spaniards counter-attacked and were driven off, again with heavy casualties.
“The position has been named Mount Haney in honor of a senior sergeant who recognized the importance of the site and urged the attack.”
Sarah breathed deeply. She didn’t know whether to be afraid or relieved. Yes, Martin was safe, but did he have to put himself in harm’s way? Of course, she thought, that’s what soldiers did.
“I think I would like something strong, like a brandy or a whisky,” Sarah said.
Ruth smiled. “Since women are not allowed alone in a bar, I’ll get one of the doctors to purchase a bottle for us and we can drink it in our room. We’ll drink and you can dream about your precious Martin while I try to figure out how to get that lovely Sergeant Haney into my bed. Mount Haney? Perhaps Sergeant Haney would like to mount me. I’d also like to know how the devil he got a mountain named after him.”
* * *
Custer wadded the newspaper and threw it across their White House bedroom. “Why the bloody hell does this Ryder person keep coming back to haunt me and why is Kendrick standing beside him again?”
Libbie put down the brush she was using on her long and rich reddish-brown hair. She checked the brush for anything gray and found nothing. “George, don’t let it get to you. The Army has just won a great victory. Who cares who commanded it? You’re the president, the commander in chief. You’re the one who’ll reap the glory. Maybe Martin Ryder will be able to parlay this into a general’s star and a seat in Congress, but that’s about it. And as to Kendrick, he’s a reporter, nothing more. When the war is over, you will review the troops in the victory parade down Pennsylvania Avenue and they will all salute you as their leader, their commander in chief. Perhaps you will even pin a medal on Ryder’s chest. But don’t forget, this is your war and it’ll be your victory.”
“You’re right,” he grumbled. “But I should be there.”
Libbie sighed. “And you know all the reasons you can’t. Congress would go into a state of shock, for one thing, if you ever left the country. They wouldn’t know what to do without your presence. It simply isn’t done.”
He sat down heavily on a chair by the bed. “Someday it will be done and I wouldn’t mind being the first to do it. If I went to Cuba it wouldn’t be as if I went to the moon. The last I checked, the telegram works quite well, thank you. The troops in Cuba need me, damn it. I am their commander in chief. I should be there.”
“The Army is in good hands, George, even if the hands belong to Nelson Miles. In the meantime, dear husband, you will be the president who expands the United States beyond its continental boundaries. You will be the one who adds Cuba and Puerto Rico to our country as colonies. This will be the beginning of a true American empire.”
Custer laughed harshly. “That is, if Congress lets me.”
She stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
Custer was delighted to know something she didn’t. He had picked up on information that Libbie had not. “J. Warren Kiefer, our beloved Speaker of the House, has informed me that there is resistance in Congress to annexing Cuba. The American people are thrilled that we are going to throw out the Spanish, but they do not want to control Cuba in perpetuity. There will be a bill introduced limiting our involvement to three years. After that, the dark-skinned people of Cuba will have their freedom. I don’t understand Kiefer’s lack of support. He’s a fellow Republican. He should support the cause of expansion and not try to contain it.”
She jumped to her feet, her face red with anger. “That’s absurd! The Cuban people are no more ready to govern themselves than I am to fly. What does Blaine have to say?”
“Our equally beloved secretary of state, the man who would like to succeed me as president, is
just as appalled as you are. It seems that everybody wants a good, cheap victory, but nobody wants the cost of governing such a large territory for anything but a minimal length of time. Blaine has been talking with Cuban rebels and he is certain that they have been visiting congressmen and even giving speeches across the U.S. They have convinced a large number of people that the honorable thing to do would be to liberate them, train them, and then leave as quickly as possible.”
Libbie was flushed with anger. “What about Puerto Rico?”
Custer shrugged. “Nobody much cares. It’s small enough, so I guess it can remain ours.”
“Wonderful!,” she snarled and threw her hairbrush across the room. “If Congress has its way, our great American overseas empire will consist of one small, shitty island.”
* * *
Maria Vasquez stayed for a week at Luis’ shop. The first few days she spent eating everything in sight and also reveling in the fact that she was not in the concentration camp. When she apologized to Luis for eating so much of his food, he simply laughed at her and told her he knew how to get more. After that she began to wonder just what was going to happen in the future.
“Don’t worry,” said Luis dismissively. “Everything is under control. In a few days you will be sent to Matanzas where you will help a rebel leader named Diego Valdez. He knows of you and that you are smart and cunning. Do you speak English, by the way?”
“A little. I suppose I could get by.”
“Even better, but try to improve on it.”
“But how will I get out of Havana? Aren’t the authorities looking for me?”
Luis laughed so hard she thought he’d have a heart attack. “No, Maria, they are not looking for you. In fact, the camps are so disorganized that they don’t know that you even exist. All they are saying is that a prostitute sneaked up on a guard and injured him severely before robbing him.”
Maria didn’t know if she was disappointed or thrilled. “You mean I didn’t kill the fat pig?”
“No, although rumor has it that he might yet die. They say he has a fractured skull. Even if he does recover, he might never be the same.”
“What about the other soldier, the one who was going to try to go second?” And he would have, she thought. She would have been in no position to cry out or otherwise try to stop them. It was a given that she would never have received any of the food that she’d been promised. She had taken a terrible chance and had won, at least for now.
Luis laughed again, displaying the fact that he had no teeth. “Both of them have been broken to the rank of private for their stupidity. If this Ramon leaves the hospital, he will likely be discharged so he can beg on the streets. The other man, Carlos, has already been stripped of what rank he had and been sent to the front lines at Matanzas. By the way, with the gate unguarded, a number of other Cubans also escaped. You did very well, Maria.”
Maria beamed. “Thank you, but when I get to Matanzas and this Diego Valdez, I would like to do better. Much better.”
* * *
“Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink,” muttered Ryder. “Does anyone know who was in charge of planning this operation? If you do, let me know so I can kill him.”
The entire First Maryland was now on the hill known throughout the army as Mount Haney. The regiment was well dug in and vegetation had been cleared away to provide fields of fire. It was a good, strong point except for some serious shortages.
“We need water,” said Ryder. “We can’t drink that stinking piss that’s in the swamps and streams around us, and we sure as hell can’t drink the salt water in the bay. Some of the men have, and they are sicker than dogs.”
At Ryder’s direction, the men had begun filtering what passed for fresh water through layers of cloth to purge it of the crawly critters that infested it. It was slow and tedious, but did seem to provide some relief.
“I just wonder why the locals don’t get sick?” asked Barnes. “Next time one of us sees a doctor, or a nurse like my sister, we should ask them, although I think it’s Darwinian.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe all the Cubans who are susceptible to getting sick and dying are already dead and the ones left are those naturally selected to survive? For some reason, the Cubans are immune to what makes us sick. Maybe it has something to do with skin color. Maybe God made black people immune because they are so primitive. Hell, maybe they haven’t fully evolved.”
Ryder shook his head. “Lord, what a lovely thought. That means we are condemned to a weeding out of epic proportions. It may be that more of us will die from illness than fighting, if you are right. Sadly, that outcome is not very far-fetched. If you read the casualty reports from the Civil War it happened a lot.”
Barnes lit a cigar and blew the smoke in the general direction of the foliage that surrounded them. He’d noticed that some of the bugs that seemed to be staring at them didn’t like it, which was fine by him. “Along with water, we also need food, ammunition, and anything else that makes sense to send to an army that’s invading a foreign land.”
General Miles had been complaining loudly that all the first invasion fleet had brought was manpower and enough ammunition to fight one battle. They had enough tins of food to last a couple of more days, but, after that, the men would start going hungry. The only local crop was sugar cane. It was totally useless as a food. The local Cubans had small farms and grew a few vegetables, but not in sufficient quantity to feed the army, which had now grown to fifteen thousand souls. The locals had also prudently departed with their livestock, which deprived the army of another source of food.
Nor had the army yet moved inland. General Miles was waiting for the arrival of a second transport fleet that would bring, along with an additional ten thousand men, some hoped-for supplies.
Barnes had not agreed with that plan. “Instead of sitting here on our asses, we should be moving inland and planning to strike at the Spanish. Instead, we wait here for them to hit us.”
Ryder decided not to criticize his commanding officer in front of a subordinate even though he was seriously thinking of marrying said subordinate’s sister. His thoughts quickly went to his and Sarah’s last few hours together. They had not consummated their relationship, but their kissing and caressing had been incredibly torrid and passionate. It had been a most pleasant reminder that the lovely young widow was not a shy and innocent virgin.
Get back to reality, he commanded himself. There were good reasons for the Army’s waiting. First, little more than half the army had arrived and, as already noted, it was terribly short of supplies. According to intelligence, the Spanish in Havana outnumbered them at least three to one and were entrenched in strong fortifications. It was generally felt that any American attacking force would be cut to shreds. Ryder was beginning to wonder if the entire invasion stood any chance of success. Some soldiers were already calling the expedition Custer’s Folly.
Gunfire could be heard in the distance. Both sides had patrols out along with the rebels who were aiding the Americans. Contact was inevitable and sometimes bloody.
Someone shouted that men were approaching. He could see them through his binoculars. They were Cuban rebels, about a dozen of them. As they got closer, word was given that they should be allowed to pass.
Ryder grinned on seeing that their leader was Diego Valdez, who saluted and waved expansively. “Colonel Ryder, I bring you two things. First there is a wagon approaching and on it are a number of barrels of water. It will taste like guano, which is bird shit, but it will quench your thirst and not kill you.”
“Bless you, Captain Valdez.” Valdez laughed at the rank he’d been given. “And what’s the second thing?”
“The Spanish have finally stirred themselves and a very large column is on its way to Matanzas.”
* * *
Gilberto Salazar had been angered at his regiment’s poor performance in trying to push the Americans off the hill overlooking Matanzas. His men had moved too slo
wly and tentatively, thus permitting a large American force to move onto the high ground and chase them off.
It was equally perplexing that General Weyler didn’t seem to care. Weyler commanded a mixed Spanish and Cuban force of about twenty-five thousand men that was moving exquisitely slowly towards Matanzas. It was almost as if the fire-breathing general didn’t want to fight the Americans. Impossible, he thought. Every Spaniard must feel that his honor had been impugned by the presence of the Americans.
Nor had his departure from his home in Havana been pleasant. Juana had been her usual bitchy self and had scarcely deigned to say goodbye. Helga had serviced him with typical German efficiency, satisfying him physically but not emotionally. Damn it to hell, he thought, he was going off to war. He deserved better from his women.
At Weyler’s command, he’d pulled his main force back about five miles from the Americans. He kept patrols out and there were constant brushes with the Americans and their rebel allies. Finally, after several days, General Weyler arrived with a strong escort. The main army was strung out behind him.
Weyler insisted on going close enough to see the American lines. “They are formidable,” he said on seeing the hills scarred by earthworks. “It will cost us a lot in Spanish blood, but with courage and God’s help we will throw them into the ocean.”
A puff of smoke emerged from the highest American held hill. A few seconds later, a cannon shell exploded several hundred yards in front of them. Weyler laughed. “Was that a gentlemanly warning to come no closer or were they panicked by the sight of us? I rather think the former, don’t you, Major?”
“Perhaps they will run when they see our army formed up to attack.”
“That would be nice, but it will not happen.”
“May I ask when we will attack?”
“When we are ready, Major, and not sooner,” Weyler said stiffly. He did not like the implied criticism. “However, I will say it will take at least a week for this sinfully slow army to arrive and get into position. Then we will have to bombard the Americans before we attack. A bombardment will likely cause very few American casualties, but to attack without one would dishearten our troops.”
1882: Custer in Chains Page 12