1882: Custer in Chains (36 page)
Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
“I’m afraid so,” said Janson.
As they drew closer, they could see that the ships were anchored against the Cuban shoreline. More signals from the
Atlanta
said the American ships were to stop and hold position just out of the range of the Spanish guns. The
Atlanta
fired one gun and the shell fell well short. The miss was intentional, they realized.
“What the hell is happening?” wondered Prentice. There appeared to be fighting on board the Spanish ships and they could hear small arms fire.
Janson peered through his telescope. “It looks like the crew is trying to overpower the officers. I think what we are watching is an old-fashioned mutiny. If so, I’ll bet that the crew doesn’t want any more fighting, not even something symbolic.”
They continued to watch as several men were thrown overboard. “Officers, I’ll bet,” said Janson. “I hope they can swim.”
A moment later and there was loud cheering from the Spanish ships. The mutiny was over and the mutineers had won. Ropes were lowered to retrieve the officers thrown overboard. It had been a civilized mutiny.
A few moments later, a small boat was lowered from one of the enemy cruisers and rowed over to the
Atlanta
. “It looks like we are going to parlay and that is a very good sign,” said Janson.
In a very short while, the boat returned to her ship. More signals flew from the
Atlanta
. “We are not to fire, repeat, not to fire,” said Janson “unless, of course, the Spaniards violate the truce and fire upon us. Also, Paul, you and I are to report immediately to the flagship.”
Paul was puzzled. “What kind of trouble are we in now?”
A few moments later, one small cannon was fired from the
Aragon
. There was no splash as no shell had been loaded. Spain’s need for honor had just been satisfied by the firing of one unloaded gun in the general direction of the enemy. Spanish flags were dropped and the battle of Playa Colorada was over.
Janson shifted the
Orion
to a position much closer to the now anchored
Atlanta
and then the two of them went by ship’s boat to the flagship. Their orders were to report immediately, so they did not have the opportunity to change into dress uniforms. It didn’t matter. Admiral David Dixon Porter was preoccupied with the Spanish ships that were rocking gently at anchor only a few hundred yards away. His full beard was more white than dark and his eyes were piercing. The two men saluted and stood waiting to be acknowledged.
After a few seconds, Porter stood and returned the salute. He then extended his hand and they shook it. “I’ve been remiss,” the admiral said. “I wanted to congratulate you on sinking that Spanish battleship, but haven’t had the time. Now I can and you do have the thanks of a nation. We can be pleased that there’s one less enemy battleship to contend with. Of course,” he said with a tight smile, “it doesn’t look like the Spanish feel like fighting anyone this day.”
Porter turned and gestured to the Spanish ships where their crews lined the rails of their ships. “Look at them. They are scared to death and not of us, but of the Cubans. I just told their emissary that their surrender must be complete and unconditional and if there is any attempt to scuttle ships that are now our prizes, I will have them all cast ashore naked and unarmed so that the Cuban rebels can chop them to pieces with their machetes. I wouldn’t, of course, but they don’t know that. For the past week, the poor fools have been afraid to go ashore for any reason and, along with running out of fuel, are also getting hungry and thirsty. Now, you’re probably wondering what this has to do with you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Janson, clearly awed by the intense man.
“You, Captain Janson, will return to the
Aurora
, while you, Lieutenant Prentice, will take over a score or so of men from both your ship and mine and take control of the
Aragon
as prize master. You will then take her to a spot just off Havana where she can be clearly seen. Similar crews will handle the other ships. I want the Spanish generals in Havana to see that their so-called fleet is actually in American hands. Lieutenant Prentice, you and the other prizes will sail in concert with our fleet, so you shouldn’t have any worries about the Spanish prisoners trying to take control of the ship. If they do try something, you will cut them down immediately and violently. Can you do that?”
Prentice stiffened. “Yes, sir.”
Porter smiled. “Captaining a near-derelict ship and a few score demoralized prisoners should be nothing to someone who helped sink a battleship, although it will look good on your record. I assume you can find Havana, can’t you?”
It was Prentice’s turn to smile. “With my eyes closed, sir.”
“Excellent, but do try to keep them open. When you get to Havana and the Spaniards have seen the last of their fleet, you will be directed to an anchorage and the prisoners will be removed. You and the others will return to the
Orion
while the captured ships await additional crews to take them to Florida or wherever the Navy Department wants them.”
“Sir, may I ask if the captured ships will become part of our navy?” asked Prentice.
“A good question, Lieutenant. On one hand, they would greatly augment our small navy, but on the other, they are not very modern ships and I hope that the United States would not pin its hopes on having them as a strong line of defense. We must build newer and better ships if we are to protect our investments in Cuba and Puerto Rico. If not, some other power is very likely to reach out with its navy and take them. Britain is just arrogant enough to do it without so much as a thank you, while France and Spain hate us.”
* * *
Corporal Carlos Menendez slowly walked up the path to Rosita Garcia’s small home. He had been there many times since he had taken her son. He had eaten there and shared Rosita’s bed. She had proven to be a passionate joy and he was very fond of her. Tonight, as evening gathered, he thought she shared that feeling.
However, her feelings towards him soon might come to an abrupt end. She appeared on the tiny porch with a small candle in her hand and stared at him. “Where is my son?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“I don’t know, Rosita. The Americans attacked at Santa Cruz and no one expected it. The place where he was working was shelled, but he did get away. But then he was captured and charged with being a deserter. The Spanish Army, my army: gave him a choice. He could work as a laborer or he could hang. He chose to work.”
Rosita sagged and sat down on the ground. “Then where is he?”
Carlos sat on the ground a few feet before her. “I don’t know. Where he was working was attacked. I got there afterwards and there were several bodies, but none were his.” At least none that he could find, he thought. A couple were so badly mangled they could have been anybody’s.
“So he has escaped and is alive?”
“Possibly. I just don’t know for certain.”
“And how do you know all these things, and why should I believe you?”
Carlos took a deep breath. “After twenty years as a soldier I have made many friends and I can talk with them and ask them questions. Sometimes sergeants and corporals know more than the generals.”
“But you don’t know where Miguel is now, do you?”
“No, but I’ve heard rumors that there are packs of deserters roaming Havana and that some of them are young boys. Let me rest here tonight and I will sneak back into the city tomorrow and find out some more. I am not expected back until tomorrow afternoon.”
“You will not share my bed. You will sleep on the porch.”
Carlos understood. He had failed her. She went inside and he curled up on the wooden porch. He was exhausted and sleep came quickly.
Two hours later she came out and nudged him with her bare foot. She was wearing only a shirt that came halfway down her muscular thighs. “I have changed my mind. I cannot sleep. I believe that you have done as much as was humanly possible, and I cannot demand more. You will come into my bed, and you will hold me, nothing else, until I fall asleep. Then, in the morning, you and I will again make love. You will go back to Havana and do everything you can to find my son.”
◆
Chapter 20
◆
B
ack in his tent, Martin took the brief letter from Sarah out of his pocket and read it for the tenth time in the last hour. She was safe and well, which he pretty much knew. She and the others were no longer living in the convent, which she said was hilariously inappropriate considering her carnal longings for him. Instead, their new quarters were on the property of the British Consul, a man named Redford Dunfield. Dunfield was complaining that his estate was getting very crowded, what with nurses, guards, and, of course, President Custer.
Martin refolded the letter. He sniffed it briefly, hoping it still carried her essence. It didn’t, of course, and he hoped that no one had seen him do it. He walked to the map of Havana that was spread out on a table and noted the location of the British consulate. While it wasn’t extremely close to where he and his brigade would be attacking, it was close enough to be in a danger zone. Of course, when the battle began, everyone and everything in Havana would be in danger. But then, she might be with Custer when the attack happened. Surely the Spanish would try to protect the President of the United States. Another thought intruded and it sickened him. Would they kill Custer and everyone around him, including Sarah, Ruta, and the other nurses, rather than see him liberated?
* * *
Lieutenant Junior Grade Paul Prentice leaned against the railing of the
Orion
and stared at the Cuban shoreline through Janson’s telescope. It was only a few miles away and the details stood out boldly in the early evening light. The ground sloped gently up from the beach. It was just as he recalled it. Better, he could see no sign of Spanish military activity.
Captain Janson moved alongside him. “You’re not thinking of going back, are you?”
“I hope not, at least not as a spy or scout. I don’t think there’s too much more I can add to the information the Navy already has.”
Each night for the past week, Prentice had been rowed to shore in a fishing boat. There he had met with Cuban rebels and scouted both the terrain and the Spanish fortifications. The land, he decided, contained no serious obstacles and could easily be handled, even in the dark, by well-trained and highly disciplined U.S. Army soldiers and Marines.
He had also concluded that the rumors about the Spanish defenses were correct. The larger of the two forts, known as
La Cabaña,
was poorly defended. With Cuban help, he had even penetrated the fortifications and been able to give the large numbers of cannons a quick examination. Some of the guns were as ancient as had been rumored. They were at least two centuries old and were badly rusted. A quick check of primer holes showed them clogged with rust. He reported to the Navy that he would pray for anyone who tried to use them.
This information both pleased and dismayed the higher-ups. If the guns were
that
bad, how could they be turned and used against the Spanish? The answer was simple—most of them couldn’t. The American force would have to land a number of their own and that included the weapons from smaller ships like the
Orion
. Janson was highly displeased with that piece of news, but recognized that it was necessary.
“You don’t have to go in with them,” Janson said with a hint of sadness. He had gotten fond of the younger officer and often thought of him as the son he’d never had.
“Yes, I do,” Prentice said. “I know the land and I know the people the Marines will be dealing with. Working with a stranger might lead to confusion and that would be tragic, to say the least.”
Janson sniffed his reluctant agreement. “That and the fact that it will be a hell of an adventure to tell your grandchildren, provided, of course, that you don’t get yourself killed during this grand adventure.”
Prentice shook his head and then wondered if Janson could see the gesture in the fading light. Even though the Spanish were well aware that many ships were off shore, the
Orion
was showing no lights as darkness fell.
“I have no plans to get killed.”
“Nobody ever does, Paul. But somehow it just happens during war, and usually when you least expect it.”
Prentice decided to change the subject. It was getting too close to his own fears. He was no hero and had very mixed emotions about the so-called grand adventure he was about to go on. True, he had volunteered to go ashore and meet with the rebels, but only because he had dealt with some of them on a casual basis while at Mount Haney and because he spoke passable Spanish.
“When will the cargo be coming aboard?” he asked.
Janson laughed at the idea of calling a hundred Marines cargo. “I understand it’ll be tomorrow night. All of which means they’ll be jammed on board with us for at least a day. Well, I had more soldiers stuffed in the
Aurora
the first trip over. Of course, the
Aurora
was a larger ship. No matter, the Marines will endure it.”
Prentice tried to visualize the more than two thousand Marines and Negro cavalrymen, their equipment, ammunition, and enough food to last them a week, all on board about fifty ships of varying size. Fortunately, the ships involved had all been on blockade for a couple of weeks. The Spanish were used to their presence and they had made no threatening gestures against the Spanish fortifications at the entrance to Havana’s harbor.
Thanks to his efforts at patrolling and spying, the brass now knew that the enemy defenses were as decayed as the Spanish empire they represented. Would this make the invasion easier? Lord, he hoped so.
* * *
“I’m hungry,” said one of the smallest boys. His name was Gilberto and he was not quite twelve years old. That was, if he knew his correct age in the first place. “We’re going to starve to death, aren’t we?”
“Not if I can help it,” said Manuel Garcia, the erstwhile leader of the small group that was now one person smaller. Of course, he had no idea how to prevent such a fate. If the city wasn’t soon liberated by the Americans and their Cuban allies, they would indeed weaken and, while they wouldn’t likely die, their weaknesses would make it easier for the Spanish authorities to catch them.
After fleeing the bombardment and running into Havana, they had hidden in a number of basements, abandoned buildings, and sheds, and even slept out in the open. For food, they had scavenged through trash and stolen from homes and shops whenever possible. The last few nights, however, had been a horror. After running for their lives, they had finally found a secure place to hide while the Spanish army looked for them. They were in a mausoleum in a large cemetery near the Cathedral of San Cristobal. A couple of the coffins had broken open and they shared the space with grinning skeletons. Manuel had calmed the other boys by turning the skulls so that they looked away. He hoped he wasn’t committing a sacrilege.
Tico was the smallest and youngest one, and also the most innocent and most desperate. A couple of nights earlier, they had been grubbing through the trash behind a large house when the door had suddenly opened. A priest they knew as the crazy Roman monsignor who was trying to organize soldiers to die for Spain and Christ stood in the doorway. The light behind him was blinding. The others had fled, but Tico had been transfixed and the priest had grabbed him.
“What are you doing, my son,” they’d heard the priest say in a calming voice.
When Tico explained that he was hungry, they heard the priest tell the boy to wait by the door. Amazed, they watched as the priest disappeared inside and then come back with two loaves of bread. “Take these and share them with your companions. Do it just like Jesus did with the loaves and fishes. All of you come back tomorrow, and there will be more food.”
That night they gorged themselves on the bread and didn’t even complain that it was a little stale. The next night they went to the back door of what they now realized was the cathedral rectory. On the stoop by the door were two more loaves of bread and a jug of something. They were about to start forward and claim their prize when Manuel told them to wait. It was too quiet.
“What if there are soldiers around, and what if it is a trap?” he asked.
“But I’m hungry,” said Tico. “And besides, it was a priest who gave us the food, wasn’t it? A priest wouldn’t lie, would he?”
“Be patient. Let’s look around first. We’ve got to make sure this is safe. We don’t want to hang, do we?”
Even as he said it, Manuel knew he’d be lucky to spot any soldiers. It was dark and here were just too many places for them to hide. But then he smelled burning tobacco along with the stench of human sweat. There were men close by and almost all of the men in Havana were soldiers. He was about to tell the boys to return to their latest hideout in a basement when he realized that Tico had ignored his orders and was walking cautiously up to the irresistible food.
“No,” he hissed, but Tico either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear.
The boy reached the bread and was bending down to pick it up when doors opened and soldiers flooded out. At the same time, the rectory door opened and the crazy priest came out screaming. “You were to wait for all of them, you fools, not just this little wretch.”
Manuel heard swearing and obscenities from the soldiers as poor little Tico wriggled and writhed helplessly in their grasp.
“Over there,” the priest yelled and pointed in Manuel’s direction. They had been spotted. “Catch the bastard deserters.”
The remaining boys ran for their lives. The soldiers were older and stronger, but the boys were motivated by fear. The boys also by now knew the streets and alleys very well. They darted in and out of darkened paths and managed to stay just out of the grasp of the soldiers. One by one, the soldiers gave up, doubled over and gasping for breath. The boys were totally exhausted as well. A couple of them
had
been grabbed at by the soldiers, and Manuel had been staggered by a strong hand on his ankle when a soldier threw himself at him. He’d screamed and kicked himself free.
“We cannot go back to where we were or where we’ve ever been,” Manuel said as his breath calmed and he got control of his fears. “Tico will talk and they will be waiting for us.”
“Tico is brave,” one of the other boys said, his stammer betraying his own fear.
Manuel again realized he was too wise for his years. He remembered his schoolteacher being beaten and hanged by the Spanish. “Yes, Tico is brave and, yes, Tico is strong. But the Spanish are stronger and they will break him and make him talk. Trust me, they will break him. Everyone will break sooner or later.”
“What will we do?”
Manuel managed a smile. He had been thinking along the lines of desperation when it came to hiding places and had seen the mausoleums in the cemetery. “I think I know of a final resting place for us,” he said.
The next evening they found Tico. He had been beaten, whipped, and there were burns all over his small naked body. He was hanging by the neck from the limb of a tree. They also found evidence that soldiers had found many of their earlier hiding places. Sadly, they knew that Tico had been brave but had ultimately talked.
Poor foolish boy, Manuel thought. At least he had found out the name of the priest who had betrayed them. His name was Bernardi and he was indeed evil. And evil had to be crushed.
* * *
It was raining again and they couldn’t see the Spanish watchtowers. On the other hand, Ryder thought, the observation balloons were safely tethered to the ground. They now had three of the balloons and, as a number of soldiers said, were useless as tits on a boar in the rain.
“Maybe we won’t have to wear those stupid Cuban costumes,” muttered Lang.
“You look great in one,” said Ryder.
“I would say something really appropriate, but you are a general.”
“Good thinking. You may still have to wear those stupid outfits, but you’re right to look at the bright side. The rain is hiding all of our movements. Of course, it’s also hiding theirs from us. Once again, the blind are leading the blind.”
“I thought that was standard Army procedure,” Lang said with a smile.
“I don’t think the army has a standard procedure for invading a foreign country.”
“Not just to change the subject, General, but is it true that we’ll be the first to enter Havana?”
Ryder knew he should keep quiet, but rumors were rife and Lang was a trusted advisor and a damn good leader. “I would be very surprised if we weren’t. Unless, of course, my well-laid plans don’t work and we’re all killed. In that case, we won’t be the first into Havana.”
“Ah, a happy thought, sir. But I have a question—what are the plans for liberating the president and, ah, all those other people with him?”
Ryder smiled. The other people in question were the nurses, although it was understood that other important personages were staying with the British consul. “Lang, you are the soul of discretion. What on earth are you possibly thinking?”
Lang pulled out two Cuban cigars and handed one to Ryder. Cigars were another luxury available now that the army had burst out of its lines at Matanzas. The two men lit up and puffed contentedly for a moment.
“Well, General, once upon a while ago, I led a raid against the Spanish. Then, just a short while ago, they raided our lines. Since it appears we’re playing tit for tat, I feel it’s time to tat their tit. In other words, I think it’s time we raided their asses and made them squeal.”
Ryder blew a perfect smoke ring and watched as it drifted across to the other side of the tent. “I like the thought, but there’s very little chance of success right now. And if you did launch a raid, it would give away the fact that we are planning a major attack.”
Lang nearly choked on his cigar. “General, don’t you think they know what we’re up to, at least in a basic sense? Besides, I have no plans to raid before the attack. My plan, such as it is now, will be to launch a raid during the attack when everybody and his brother will be fighting the main battle.”
Ryder blew another ring and decided he was getting really good at it. “Are you thinking of a flying column or a forlorn hope?” he asked, referring to sometimes desperate attacks of the past.