Martin sat up. The romantic interlude was over, at least for the moment. “I’ve seen beggars who were better dressed. What do you want me to do?”
“Unless you can get us ladies some appropriate women’s wear, we would like you to order the quartermaster to issue us men’s uniforms, size small, very small if they have any such thing. If not, we will tailor what we can get to our needs.”
“It’s irregular, but so is the idea of having you here in the first place. Consider it done. But what will Clara Barton think?”
She leaned down and kissed him longingly, for a moment letting her tongue wander with his. “I don’t much care what Clara Barton thinks,” she said when they broke and could talk. “She can solve her own problems.”
Sarah ran her hand down his chest and stomach and lightly over his pants and the very obvious swelling hiding beneath the cloth. “Just remember, my very dear general that the suddenly lusty Widow Damon needs you and craves you very much, so stay safe.”
* * *
Pleased and confident, Winfield Scott Hancock, former major general in the Union Army and 1880 Democratic candidate for President of the United States formally presented himself to Blaine, Arthur, and the others. Libbie Custer was not present. She could not bear to be in the same room as the man who had run against her beloved husband and had almost beaten him. Unsaid was the thought that a President Hancock wouldn’t have gotten the U.S. in the terrible mess that the war in Cuba had become.
Lieutenant General Philip Sheridan accompanied him. It was not lost on the attendees that Hancock looked far more fit and trim and healthy than Sheridan who was seven years his junior.
“Don’t we have any young generals?” sneered Blaine.
“No we don’t,” Sheridan said blandly, “and therein lies the curse of the peacetime army, and navy I might add. During war, merit and survival are rewarded and cream rises to the top. In peacetime, rank freezes, even fossilizes. Just about every general we currently have in the army achieved that rank during the Civil War, and that tragic event ended more than sixteen years ago.”
“And as I can still talk and walk, I decline to be referred to as a fossil,” answered a smiling Hancock. He was in a confident and ebullient mood. He was about to be honored and vindicated by his political enemies. “I may be many years older than Nelson Miles, but in many ways I am very much younger than he.”
Even Blaine had to agree with that assessment. “Have you come to be America’s savior, Mister Hancock?”
Hancock refused to be insulted by Blaine’s not referring to him as General. Even though he was a civilian, he was entitled to the courtesy. “I don’t think America needs a savior, sir, but the war in Cuba certainly does.”
Vice President Arthur decided it was time to end the pettiness. Blaine was beginning to annoy him. “Agreed. Now, General Hancock, what can you bring to the table?”
Hancock took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I led men in battle, but I am confident I can rally the troops and conclude the war with an American victory.”
Even Blaine had to nod agreement. Few could not recall Hancock’s taking control of the Union lines at the Battle of Gettysburg and stabilizing them before he was terribly wounded. That wound still troubled him and on occasion caused him great pain. There were those who thought that it had been Hancock and not Meade who had won that climactic battle.
“What do you need for victory?” Arthur asked in a soft voice.
“I need rank sufficient to the task. Reinstate me, but as a lieutenant general. That will make me second to General Sheridan but above anyone in command in Cuba, which will eliminate conflicts.”
“Agreed,” said Arthur and the others nodded.
“General Miles is correct. We need more men. There are two more divisions in training and I want them immediately. General Gordon’s division and General Chamberlain’s must be on the move to Cuba as soon as humanly possible.”
There was silence but no disagreement. John Gordon’s men were all southerners and there had been resistance to having former Confederates fighting as a unit. But Hancock was popular in the South. He’d been fairly lenient to southerners during the Reconstruction period. His detractors had said he had been too lenient on the former and largely unrepentant rebels. No matter, he would have Gordon’s Division.
Joshua Chamberlain’s division of volunteers primarily came from Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. In an exquisite irony, it had been Brevet Major General Chamberlain who had been tasked with receiving the surrender of Robert E. Lee’s troops at Appomattox. The Confederate General tasked with surrendering the Army of Northern Virginia had been John Gordon. Chamberlain had won Gordon’s and the rest of the Confederates’ respect by ordering his men to salute the rebels as they marched past and laid down their arms. After the war, Gordon had become very controversial. Even though he denied it, rumors said he had been in charge of the Ku Klux Klan.
On the other hand, John Gordon had been elected to the U.S. Senate.
“I understand that Joshua Chamberlain’s in poor health,” said Arthur.
Sheridan chuckled. “You tell him. The man’s insistent. He feels that serving as a General in the Civil War, being awarded the Medal of Honor and later becoming Governor of Maine, and still later President of Bowdoin College entitle him to consideration and I agree.”
Between Gordon and Chamberlain, they could bring another fifteen to twenty thousand men to the battle. Would they be enough to win? That would be up to Lieutenant General Hancock.
“We are in agreement?” asked Sheridan and all said yes.
Even Blaine seemed pleased. “Well, General Hancock, how soon will your men commence arriving at Matanzas?”
Lieutenant General Winfield Scott Hancock smiled widely, “Events will transpire very soon, gentlemen.”
Phil Sheridan turned away and smiled. He and Hancock had discussed strategy for the coming campaign. No reinforcements would be landing at Matanzas. For the time being, Nelson Miles, with help from the navy, would be on his own in defending his two perimeters at that dismal Cuban port.
* * *
“I think I’ve done this before,” sighed Wally Janson as he looked over the gathering host of ships anchored off Charleston, South Carolina, “Although maybe it was in another and more pleasant life.”
The transports were all shapes and sizes and of varying speeds. Someone had the bright idea of breaking them into two groups—the slower ships in one and the faster in another since a convoy would be held to the speed of its slowest member. A rough estimate had more than two hundred vessels clustered off Charleston. In a very short while they would commence loading two divisions of infantry and all their supplies.
Lieutenant Junior Grade Paul Prentice smiled tolerantly. He’d heard the comments several times in the last couple of days. Along with the other survivors from the ill-fated Aurora, he and Janson been exchanged for an equivalent number of Spanish prisoners. Treated as heroes for their role in sinking the Spanish battleship Vitoria, the US Navy had offered the older Janson command of a newly commissioned gunboat, which he promptly named the Orion. He didn’t ask if the navy already had plans for the name. As a sailor, he had a deep affection for the constellations. The two men had been awarded the Medal of Honor for sinking the Spanish battleship.
The Orion displaced about twelve hundred tons and was armed with a pair of six-inch guns, along with a handful of nine and twelve-pound cannon. Armored plating had been attached to her sides and around her bridge which affected her speed and maneuverability. She was a deadly force even no one would ever call her an ironclad. With luck, the light armor would deflect bullets or shrapnel and small cannon shells, but would be useless against the shells from bigger weapons. The Orion would choose her fights carefully. Spain might have lost her two battleships, but her remaining cruisers would be more than a match for Janson’s ship.
Janson was her skipper, while Prentice was on board as a supernumerary. The leg he’d broken when ca
ptured hadn’t completely healed and he was on crutches. He would not be able to return to active duty until he was fully healed. In the meantime, Janson needed assistance to function as a real naval officer. Janson’s commission would last for the duration of the war and it was presumed that the Orion would be signed over to his ownership as partial compensation for the loss of the Aurora.
The Orion was one of two score similar ships that had been hastily pressed into service in the rapidly expanding navy. All had been converted from merchantmen. Small and lethal, they would protect the gathering armada from the few remaining Spanish warships if they should venture out from wherever they were hiding. The navy was building a number of real armored cruisers that would be substantially better than the powerful Atlanta, which was patrolling off Charleston and no longer on duty at Havana. The new ships would not be ready for a year of two. The newspapers had called the situation a shame and heaped more blame on President Custer. Both Prentice and Janson were inclined to agree with the assessment as was most of the population of the United States.
“The first time I left on a mission like this, it was from Baltimore,” Janson mused out loud. “At least we’re a few hundred miles closer to Cuba than we were that first time, which will make it easier on all the troops who’ll be jammed in the holds of all those ships. Did I ever tell you how we were attacked by a Spanish gunboat and how that young Colonel Ryder figured out how to sink it? I like to think that fight was part of why he got promoted to general.”
“Only about a hundred times,” Prentice said tolerantly. “This Ryder must be a hell of a general. Not all generals and admirals are willing to fight. A lot of them simply want to make speeches and look good in their uniforms.”
“Lieutenant, you are wise beyond your years.”
“Skipper, have you learned our final destination?”
Janson’s eyes widened in surprise, “Are you telling me it’s not Matanzas?”
“All I’m saying is that I keep hearing rumors. I also understand that the army is going to undergo a major reorganization now that Hancock’s in charge. I keep hearing that someone named Couch is going to be named to an important position. The name’s familiar, but I don’t know why.”
Janson yawned. It was good to have someone he could talk to without having to worry about little things like rank. “Paul, I’m sure they’ll tell us when they decide it’s important enough. For your information, Darius Couch was a Union general, but I don’t recall all that much about him. Wait, I do recall one thing. He likes to pronounce his name Coach instead of Couch. I guess he doesn’t want to be compared to a piece of furniture.”
* * *
Darius N. Couch, recently returned to the army as a major general in command of the newly designated Second Corps, was looking for redemption. He was sixty years old and every day he recalled how he had failed his country at the Battle of Chancellorsville in the spring of 1863. In his mind he had let the very real chance of defeating or even destroying Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia slip through his normally very capable hands. Had he acted decisively, how many lives could have been saved, how many thousands of families would not still be in mourning. He could only wonder and mourn for himself and the faceless others.
Unlike the more powerfully built Hancock, Couch was small and slight and subject to bouts of ill health. Couch had also been decorated for gallantry in the Mexican War, at the Battle of Buena Vista.
“I won’t let you down,” he said solemnly.
Hancock nodded. “I know.”
“Not like Chancellorsville.”
Hancock understood the man’s frustration. At Chancellorsville, the terribly overmatched Joe Hooker had been the victim of a surprise attack by Lee. The much larger Union Army had been pushed back into a defensive perimeter. Still, they were in good shape until Hooker had been wounded, struck on the head by falling debris. As he was taken to the rear, Hooker ordered Couch, his second in command, to retreat. There were vehement arguments both for and against obeying that order. Couch felt that Lee had done all he could and was ripe for a counter-attack. Hooker, concussed and confused, insisted on ordering a retreat and was taken away by ambulance, leaving Couch in temporary command of the massive Army of the Potomac.
“I obeyed the orders of an injured and confused man who, quite likely, wasn’t right in the head. I should have seized control and fought Lee. We could have whipped him. We could have shortened the war, maybe even ended it. It sickens me every time I think of it.”
Hancock smiled. Couch had obeyed orders and that had absolved him from any blame for the defeat at Chancellorsville. However, Couch was right. Sometimes orders are meant to be ignored. “Well, now you get to fight Weyler, and I want you to fight him all the way to Havana.”
Couch could not bring himself to smile in return. “Neither I nor the Second Corps will let you down, General Hancock.” Then he did smile briefly. “Of course I do not envy you having to work with General Miles. If he were in my command, I would likely have to kill him.”
Hancock laughed. He was pleased with his decision to bring Couch back to the colors. Although another of what James G. Blaine annoyingly referred to as an older general, it was clear that Couch was full of fight and wanted to purge himself of history. He would command the newly created Second Corps which consisted of Gordon’s and Chamberlain’s divisions. The two subordinate generals had met a few days earlier and politely recalled previous incidents including the surrender at Appomattox. Although they would never be close friends, both Couch and Hancock were convinced that they would both cooperate and obey. Second Corps was in good hands and would operate independently of First Corps.
That left First Corps, which, until it was just recently designated, was the entire American Army in Cuba. First Corps was in Nelson Miles’ hands and would remain so. Hancock would be with Miles and oversee the touchy and vain little man’s actions. Miles would not be happy, but that was none of Hancock’s concern. First Corps consisted of three divisions—Benteen’s, Gibbon’s, and Crook’s. Altogether, the two army corps totaled nearly forty thousand men. It was the largest American Army to take the field since the Civil War. If it was defeated, the whole idea of a war against Spain would result in nothing more than a bloody humiliation for the United States.
Therefore, Hancock thought as he left the conference with Couch, I will not be defeated.
Therefore again, he concluded, I must get to Matanzas as soon as possible. He would travel on the steam sloop Enterprise, while Couch would have his temporary headquarters on the Atlanta.
Chapter 16
Major General Benteen made himself as comfortable as possible in Ryder’s bunker. He had just finished a circuit of the new lines of defenses on and around Mount Haney. These now included extensive trench lines for the rest of his division and not only Ryder’s brigade. The defenses ran from the waterfront on both sides of the hill and around it. They were several lines deep and Benteen was pleased.
“No fortress is ever impregnable Martin, but you’ve done a great job. Of course, you had me alongside to help you,” he added with a grin.
Ryder shook his head and ignored the good-natured jibe. “We only lack two things, general, food and water. There are enough of us to hold off the Spaniards and we have enough ammunition to fight a number of battles, but we might just die of starvation or thirst while carrying loaded weapons.”
The crushing Spanish attack on the city of Matanzas had resulted in the loss of much of their supplies. As the men retreated to Haney and the entrance to the bay, they’d carried with them as much ammunition as possible. This meant leaving stockpiles of food for the Spanish to plunder. Nor was their water situation much better. The men around Haney now numbered more than eight thousand and, while water was available, it came in a literal trickle from the wells already dug. These had been adequate for Ryder’s brigade, but not for an entire division and a number of refugees. The Spanish, sensing the situation, had attempted to divert the few streams that ran clos
e to the American lines. They’d only partly succeeded, but it did mean an inadequate supply for cooking and sanitation.
The two generals were alone. This was a conversation, not a conference. “How’s Miles taking his demotion?” asked Ryder.
“Outwardly, he appears to be controlling his anger. Inwardly, I think he’s relieved. Commanding an independent army this size was too much for him. When Hancock and the Second Corps arrive, he’ll still have an important role to play, but he won’t be responsible for the major decisions. Miles is a brave man and a good fighter, but he was put in water too deep for him and that was Custer’s fault. He should have chosen the best man under any circumstances, not the best from a small pool of choices that he alone created. He should have left politics out of it.”
“What president could have done that?” Ryder grumbled.
“No one that I know of,” Benteen admitted with a smile.
Several cannon boomed from the American positions. The taking of Matanzas had not presented the Spanish with the complete victory they’d wanted. Cannon from Mount Haney and from the mouth of the bay covered most of the distance between the two points which kept the Spanish from fortifying what they’d taken. Word had come that, after recovering the dead and wounded under yet another flag of truce, the Spanish had apologized for bombarding the hospital. They claimed that they’d been told that the church had been fortified. The apology had been accepted even though no one believed it. The Red Cross symbol had been prominently displayed on all sides of the building.
Benteen continued. “I also like the way you’ve established tracks and trails so you can move your big guns and your Gatlings quickly. You mass those things against a Spanish attack and the greasers won’t like it.”
Ryder wanted to light a cigar, but he only had a couple left and didn’t feel like sharing them with Benteen. “The Spanish don’t like being called greasers.”
1882: Custer in Chains - eARC Page 27