1882: Custer in Chains (14 page)

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 slowly 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.”

Salazar thought that many of Weyler’s soldiers already looked disheartened but kept still. The general must know what kind of men he was leading. He wondered if King Alfonso did and what his royal majesty truly thought of this endeavor.

Then it occurred to him—was the Spanish army merely going through the motions? Would they simply fire a few rounds and retreat to Havana, leaving the rest of the island to the Americans? To run and hide before a smaller American army would be humiliating.

Weyler looked at him carefully. “If I am reading your mind, Salazar, you are concerned that we will depart for Havana after firing a few rounds to satisfy our honor. Do not be concerned. Once we are in place, we will attack and press the attack with vigor. Our goal will be to push the bastards into the ocean.”

* * *

Even though the army had not moved very far inland, Clara Barton thought it prudent for her medical staff to move to Cuba in anticipation of the fighting and not as a response to it. She and her volunteers were well aware that this would be dangerous, but she was proud that they all understood the risks and accepted them. It was the best—perhaps only—way they could treat the freshly wounded.

Their small steamer moved into the calm blue waters of Matanzas Bay and anchored. It was plainly marked as a Red Cross vessel and its arrival stirred a great deal of curiosity. The regular military establishment medical personnel resented the presence of the Red Cross. They considered it an insult to their skills and felt that the Red Cross was saying that their abilities were somehow inadequate. Miss Barton seemed to agree with that assessment, although she did not quite come out and say it.

The doctors and nurses disembarked onto a handful of lifeboats and small sailboats. Thus, Sarah, Ruth, and the other nurses found themselves together. A couple of sailors had commenced rowing them to the shore only fifty yards away when one of the nurses shrieked and laughed. Sarah turned and laughed herself. A throng of soldiers was swimming and bathing in the water and every last one was buck naked.

“Ladies, don’t look,” commanded Barton.

“It’s a little too late,” said Ruth. “Besides, we’ll see much more of the male anatomy when we start treating them.”

“True enough,” said Barton. Sarah thought her eyes were twinkling with uncharacteristic humor.

The men noticed them and most ran howling and laughing to the shore like little kids caught doing something naughty. A few, however, stood proudly and displayed themselves until they were yelled at by their officers.

“Recognize Martin in that mob?” Ruth asked and this time Clara Barton did smile. Sarah simply stuck out her tongue in response.

Moments after landing, they were met by a thoroughly upset and embarrassed Major General Nelson Miles. “Please accept my apologies, ladies, I had no idea you were coming. If I had, I would have seen to it that my men behaved themselves.”

“I assure you no one was hurt, either physically or emotionally,” Barton responded, “so let us get on with our work.”

Miles assigned a captain to find them a place to pitch their tents and sent a detail to help them. Sarah smiled at the captain. “I have relatives and friends with the First Maryland. Can you tell me where they are?”

He paused and thought for a moment before pointing to a hill a couple of miles away. “I believe they are up there, ma’am. That is what is called Mount Haney.”

The hill, or mount, was mostly covered with lush foliage. She could see places where it had been cleared and indentations in the ground that she assumed were trenches. Martin Ryder was up there, only a few miles away, a decent walk on a pleasant afternoon. Perhaps she could get word to him or her brother that they had arrived.

Something boomed and they froze. The captain was perplexed. “It would appear that the boys up there on the hill have found something worth shooting at,” he said genially.

* * *

Diego Valdez and a score of Cuban insurgents lay in the thick brush that lined the narrow dirt road from Havana. They were several miles inland from the American perimeter and only a few yards from the road. Concealed by the shadows and the foliage, they were invisible. Diego had more men close by, but these were the only ones with rifles, and many of those were relics from wars gone by. A couple of his men had flintlocks that had been used against the English more than a century past. The lack of weapons was a problem that
had
to be solved.

The Spanish column was long and thin, and moved very slowly. The Spanish troops looked worn down by the heat and uninterested in the whole venture. They slouched and held their rifles any way they wished and few officers were in view. Invariably, breaks in the column occurred and Valdez watched for an opportunity. There. A squad was sauntering along as if they were on the way to Sunday Mass. For just a moment, no other Spaniards could be seen.

“Now!” he screamed and his men surged forward, shooting and howling. Several of the Spaniards fell and their screams added to the din. With their rifles empty, the rebels fell on the survivors with machetes, hacking and chopping. A couple of the Spaniards fought back, but most fell in the first wave. Then it was the turn of the survivors to fall and die in bloody piles. It was over in a few seconds. A couple of Spaniards had managed to run and Diego could hear orders being given to the rest of the column, still invisible from around the turn in the road.

“Take their rifles and ammunition, and you have ten seconds to strip off their uniforms.”

His men went to it with a will. It took less than ten seconds to get rifles, ammunition, and uniform shirts from the dead and wounded. They stripped the pants off over the boots, which they left on the dead men’s bodies. It would take too much time to pull them off. Besides, most of his men had spent their lives barefoot and the soles of their feet were like stones. They gathered their plunder and ran into the brush. In seconds, they were hidden and safe. The Spanish might send a patrol, but it would find nothing. Diego’s men played this game far too well and for far too long. Now, they not only had more weapons, but a number of useable Spanish uniforms. He laughed. They would not become
truly
useable until his soldiers managed to get the blood off of them.

* * *

A heavily sweating soldier gave Ryder the envelope with his name written on it. The soldier was one of a number who delivered food and other items from headquarters down below the hill. Thus, it wasn’t at all unusual for Ryder to get handwritten messages. There’d been talk of connecting the telegraph line to the men on Mount Haney, but it hadn’t happened yet. Instead, heliographs, which reflected light and could send Morse code messages, were used to send urgent information. Clearly then, this was not urgent.

The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, but he was too tired to make any connection.

“Get yourself some water and take a ten-second break, soldier.”

The trooper laughed, nodded and stepped away. Ryder noticed that he was heading directly to their small mess tent. Good man. Eat every chance you can. He looked at the envelope.

“Why don’t you open it, Colonel dearest?”

“Then I won’t have anything to look forward to, Sergeant Major Haney.”

He tore the envelope open and gasped. It was a note from Sarah. Jesus Christ, he thought as he read it, she was
here
. How the devil had she managed that trick? He read further. She and Ruth were part of a contingent of Red Cross nurses that had just arrived. He wholeheartedly welcomed the medical aid they didn’t require quite yet. The sporadic gunfire from enemy lines was proof that there would be a compelling need in the not too distant future.

As happy as he was that she was just down from the hill, he was very concerned that she was in a very dangerous position. When the Spaniards attacked, she might be in the middle of it. Would the Spaniards take into account the Red Cross emblazoned on their hospital tents? He walked to the other side of the hill and looked down onto the bay. Yes, he could see several such tents with the Red Cross vividly displayed. All right, if he could see it, so could the Spaniards. But would they honor it?

Damn it. As much as he wanted to hold her in his arms and feel her warm and clean breath on his neck, he desperately wanted her to be safe.

“Colonel, sir.”

“Yes, Haney.”

“Did I hear you say that Miss Holden is with Mrs.
Damon
?”

“I must have been thinking out loud, Sergeant Major, and yes, the two women have connived their way to Cuba.”

Haney smiled happily. “And isn’t that truly amazing, sir?”

* * *

Juana Salazar was quite pleased with herself. It was entirely possible that she had struck a blow for Cuban freedom. Better, it had been safe and easy, easy as pie, as her American lover would have said.

She could not help but wonder what James Kendrick was up to and whether or not they actually were lovers after only one night of passion together. Kendrick was doubtless a hundred times more experienced than she. Would she ever see him again? She had mentally relived their night of torrid passion a hundred times since he’d left a few days prior. He had awakened her like she’d always dreamed in a way that a lover, a knight errant, would. Of course, she’d never dreamed that her knight in shining armor would be starting to go bald and have a little paunch, but then she’d never thought she’d be thirty before even beginning to have a fulfilling sex life. On the other hand, many of her women friends admitted to not having a satisfying physical side of marriage with their husbands. She decided that she would count her blessings. If Kendrick was going to be a part of her life, well, they were going to have to deal with the fact that she was both married and a Catholic.

She would also have to go to Confession. Her confessor was her uncle, Bishop Estefan Campoy, and he would scold her and then ask why her husband did not please her. Juana would tell him the truth because that’s the way she was raised and that would outrage the good bishop even more. She decided that it was about time that her uncle knew the truth about Gilberto Salazar.

Then she thought that perhaps it would be better if she waited a while before seeing her uncle in the confessional. Perhaps her husband would manage to get himself killed in the war. She could long for that but she could not, would not, pray for it. That would be a sin.

Juana presumed that Kendrick had made it safely to the American lines at Matanzas. With Diego to guide him, it should have been a simple journey. But her nation was at war, which meant that nothing was guaranteed to be easy. Her husband was out with much of the Spanish army and they were between Kendrick and the Americans. Nothing was certain in life except that she was feeling like a giddy young girl. One certainty was that she was thrilled to be able to punish both Spain and Gilberto.

Before he left, Kendrick had shown her how to get telegraph messages to the American military in the U.S. She had no idea who would actually read any of the information sent, and she’d been told not to send too many telegrams lest the Spanish government suddenly become curious about her change in behavior. After all, she hadn’t sent more than a half dozen telegrams to the United States in the last several years.