Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
1882: Custer in Chains (8 page)
“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.”
“Then we will starve and die,” and old man said and grinned toothlessly.
Both priests agreed that the people should store and hide their food from whoever their oppressors might be.
“Will it ever end?” Rosita asked the priest who was pro-rebel. She could not recall his name.
“Only God knows.”
Rosita persisted. “We are so close to Havana. The armies will have to come this way, won’t they?”
The priest shook his head sadly and didn’t answer. It was all too obvious. The Cuban people wanted no part of any war between Spain and something called the United States of America. As usual, however, the poor, ragged, dirty, and hungry peasants would be ground under the heels of others. As usual, each side would blame the peasants for siding with the other and punish those they thought to be guilty. The Spanish would be the most savage, because they were so far away from home. They were oppressors without inhibitions.
“We must hide everything, like we used to do,” the priest finally said. “And that includes our women.”
There was no disagreement. Rosita herself had been raped a few years ago by a Spaniard. She had endured. That’s what women were supposed to do. At least that’s what another priest had told her.
As would any mother, she feared for her son. This night she would sneak into his room while he was sleeping and pray over him. If he caught her, he would be embarrassed. Then she would pray that the war didn’t come. But she knew it would.
◆
Chapter 5
◆
A
cting Major Jack Barnes smiled and dramatically swept his arm over the crowded harbor. They were on the ramparts of historic but obsolete Fort McHenry. Below them was a horde of ships of all shapes and sizes. He pointed at three in particular. “There, Colonel, are the three ships that are going to take the regiment to Cuba.”
Ryder shook his head sadly. “Please don’t tell me their names are the
Niña, Pinta
, and
Santa Maria
.”
Barnes laughed nervously. “They’re old, sir, but not that old.”
Ryder reluctantly agreed. The ships assigned to the First Maryland looked like old tubs with rust and dirt streaks on their hulls. But he’d been assured that they were seaworthy and had steam engines, although two of them were paddlewheelers. They’d been chartered by the Navy, and he presumed the Navy knew what it was doing. Each ship would carry one battalion of infantry along with as much supplies as could be stuffed in her hold. After the men were loaded, food and ammunition were the highest priority. No, he corrected himself, the
only
priority. And water, he added.
The waters around Fort McHenry were filled with steamships of all sizes. Barnes said he’d actually counted over two hundred before giving up. Additional ships continued to arrive. U.S. Navy warships were further down toward the mouth of the Chesapeake and would escort the ragtag armada to Cuba when the time came. These consisted of the recently renamed cruiser
Atlanta
and a number of armed sloops and converted merchantmen. The
Atlanta
had been the HMS
Shannon
. It was felt that her ten-inch guns were powerful enough to handle anything the Spanish had, including her two battleships. Ryder again hoped that the Navy knew what it was doing.
“Major, I have a sneaking suspicion that there is going to be a real circus when the order is given to embark. Therefore, I want an armed platoon on each of our ships to protect them from being stolen out from under us.”
“Do you think that’s really necessary?”
“Yes, I do. You’ve seen some of these units. I was recently told that to call them mobs would be to insult a true mob, yet they all want to be in the first convoy and get all the glory. Since there aren’t enough ships to take everyone, it’s possible that some of these so-called warriors will try to steal our transports. Look, we’ve been training hard and it shows. However, some of our sister regiments have been acting like this is a picnic with rifles.”
Barnes laughed. “You’re right. I’ll have men on each ship and they’ll be armed and ordered to use force to repel boarders. By the way, Colonel, what have you heard from Haney?”
“Nothing, and I don’t expect to, at least not for a while. If he can, he is going to meet us off Florida. If not, we’ll wait until we land at Matanzas. Right now he’s probably running around Cuba with a pack of rebels and having a wonderful time killing Spaniards.”
* * *
For Kendrick it had been one of the most awkward dinners in memory. Gilberto Salazar had tried being a gracious host, but had showed up drunk for the meal and continued to drink throughout it. His wife, a stern and plain woman named Juana, had been there as well and had glared daggers at her husband. There was clearly no love lost between them.
To make matters even more awkward, Salazar had brought a German woman named Helga to sit beside him, and she was obviously his mistress. Helga was blond, plump, and looked vacantly around the room. It was clear that she’d been drinking as well and, with each deep breath she took, her ample breasts threatened to spill out of her dress. That Juana wanted to kill both of them was evident. Kendrick found himself feeling sorry for the slighted woman. Salazar’s wife was thin, had a hook nose, and wore her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was dressed in black like a caricature of a nun and said little throughout the meal.
Just as the dinner was grinding to an end, a messenger came with information that enraged Salazar. He crumpled the note and threw it across the room before announcing that rebels had attacked a patrol and killed several of his men. He would have to leave immediately. He lurched to his feet and ordered his horse saddled and a troop of cavalry to accompany him. Kendrick had no idea what use Salazar’s presence would be, since, by his own admission, the rebels would be far, far away from the site of the killings by the time he got there. Kendrick was delighted that he was not invited to accompany him.
Just before departing, Salazar turned on his wife. “I brought you to this meal to meet the American,” he snarled. “I thought you would at least be civil.”
Juana was not intimidated. “How can I be civil in the presence of your whore? Why do you insist on flaunting the simple creature? Why don’t you just leave her in bed where she belongs?”
Salazar grabbed Juana’s arm and pulled her to her feet. She showed no emotion while Helga commenced to blubber. “See what I have to put up with, Kendrick? My own wife, a woman who should be submissive, shows no respect for me. Do you like women, Kendrick?”
“Of course,” he answered softly, wondering what the hell kind of trouble any answer would result in.
“Excellent,” Salazar said as he roughly pushed Juana back into her chair. “Tonight she will come to your room and you have my permission to fuck her. No, I insist that you fuck her.”
With that astonishing pronouncement, Salazar left. Kendrick figured that Salazar would be gone the better part of a week. With his angry departure, the diners abruptly left for their respective rooms.
As was customary in Cuba, they had eaten late and Kendrick had not gotten to his suite until midnight. He stripped to his cotton underclothing, sat on the bed, and lit a thin cigar. He normally enjoyed a good Cuban smoke, but not this evening. He was too tense to fall asleep so there was no danger of fire from smoking in bed.
He heard a noise and watched as the doorknob turned and the door opened. To his astonishment, Juana entered. She was wearing a long nightgown and carried what looked like a robe over her right arm.
She stood a few feet in front of him and dropped the robe from over her arm. She had a derringer in her hand.
“My husband commanded me to come here and submit to you. If I don’t, he will beat me. The servants have seen me enter your room and will believe that you and I will have done what he wished.”
This is incredible, Kendrick thought. “You don’t have to worry about me, Juana. I would never hurt you or take you against your will.”
She blinked and nodded. “I’d like to believe you, but I don’t. Gilberto has been cruel and brutal, but he’s never done anything like this before. I think he has been slipping further into madness each day. Regardless, if you try to force me, I will kill you.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“And why not?”
He noticed that her hand was shaking. “You didn’t cock the pistol.”
She looked bewildered. “What?”
“With that model, you have to cock the hammer to make it fire. Are you even certain it’s loaded?”
Her jaw dropped. He reached over and took the derringer from her unprotesting hand. She hadn’t cocked it, but it was loaded. He removed the bullet and handed the pistol back to her.
“If you’d like, you may hit me over the head with it. However, you will have no reason to.”
Juana smiled wanly and sat down in a chair across the room. “In truth, I was never too worried. Some of Gilberto’s friends are as monstrous as he, but you did not strike me as one of them. Now, however, I must stay here long enough for the two women who spy for him to be satisfied that we have consummated his command. Someday I think I will delight in having those two shrews whipped within an inch of their lives, but that would mean I would sink to his level.”
“Would he really beat you?”
Juana shrugged. “He has in the past. Nothing serious, just a few slaps and punches to places where the bruises won’t show. He’s a very cruel person who has had people who offended him whipped and mutilated, especially the peasants. Some he’s even had killed. He will do nothing like that to me. My uncle is a bishop here in Havana and Gilberto fears for his immortal soul in his own strange way.”
Kendrick knew many men who beat their wives. It was quite common, although, as a bachelor, he didn’t know how to judge someone who did. He was no saint, but he had never struck a woman and couldn’t imagine circumstances where he would. Self-defense, of course, was another matter and a woman with a pistol was a clear threat. He was glad that Juana was so inept with guns.
“How can I help you, Juana?”
She smiled again and this time it was with a measure of warmth. “Since we are going to be together for a while, you might get me one of those cigarillos.”
* * *
President Custer read the latest intelligence estimates and was appalled. “Are you telling me that as of only a few years ago, the Spanish had a quarter of a million soldiers in Cuba? Dear God, I didn’t think they had a fifth of that.”
Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln was equally dismayed. “This information only came to light recently. The large numbers of Spanish soldiers was a result of their long war against Cuban insurgents. We have no idea how many of them remain. We do know, however, that significant reinforcements have landed and that others are en route.”
Lieutenant General Phil Sheridan shifted his bulk in a chair that was far too small for him. “These are only numbers, General Custer. What they don’t say is how well trained, equipped, or led the Spanish army is. It is also very likely that many of their soldiers are Cuban militia of dubious quality.”
“There are still far too many of them. Dear God, what have I gotten us into?”
“This is the war you wanted,” Sheridan said, stifling a laugh. “However, there is some good news. Many of the Spanish troops are not in the Havana area. We estimate there are about fifty thousand in and around Santiago, with other sizeable garrisons protecting other cities from the rebels. That and the sheer size of Cuba means that the Spanish will not be able to easily reinforce Havana, although they will doubtless try once we land and commit ourselves. We will always be outnumbered, but we should be able to outfight them, even though they will be based in a heavily fortified city.”
Custer wiped his brow. He was sweating profusely. “What will the Spanish do when we land?”
Lincoln was about to respond, but Sheridan beat him to it. “General Valeriano Weyler commands the troops around Havana. He is a young, fiery, aggressive and cruel commander. He will attack as soon as he can and will attempt to drive us into the sea around Matanzas. He will not permit his army to become a punching bag for us to wear down and destroy.”
Custer stood and paced his office. “When will we attack?”
“It’s somewhat up to the Navy, but their plans say there will be no more than two weeks before embarking. It will also take a good week to steam to Matanzas. Then figure another week to disembark the troops, unload supplies, and get organized.”
“That’s too long,” Custer said in a whisper.
“We could call it off,” Lincoln said hopefully, “and give negotiations another chance.”
“No, damn it! We’d look like bloody fools. We have to fight them and beat them. We must have this war and we must take Cuba. Just as Blaine says, our country’s future as a great power depends on it. We can’t back off and let a third-rate pissant country like Spain humiliate us. I don’t like what I’ve heard, but I have to accept the reality of the situation.”
“It doesn’t matter how the Spanish split their forces, our boys will still be outnumbered many times over,” said Sheridan. “We haven’t been able to enlist anywhere near the number of men we thought we’d need. You could be looking at a bloodbath if things don’t work out.”
“All the more reason I should be in command,” Custer snapped. “It’s going to take a brave and resourceful commander to lead the Army to victory and I’m not certain Nelson Miles is that man.”
Sheridan laughed. “Then replace him with Hancock, but you cannot leave this country and remain president.”
Custer bristled. “Winfield Scott Hancock can go straight to fucking hell. He will never command a thing while I am president.”
Custer rose and stormed out of the room. He went directly up to his personal quarters to find that Libbie had beaten him there. She had been in an adjacent room and been listening to every word through a speaking tube held against the wall.
“Libbie, they want to destroy me,” he said as he pounded his fist on a dresser.
“Of course they do,” she said calmly. “Jealousy from insignificant others is the fate of all great men.” She sat down on a couch and he sat beside her. She smiled and pulled his head down to her lap where he could rest against her bosom.
“You will win, George. You will prevail against both Spain and the small minds who conspire against you. They can never stop us.”
* * *
Two nights later, Kendrick and Juana had a glass of brandy and another cigarillo in his room. As before, she was dressed in a nightgown while he had discreetly put a robe over his underclothing. This time their meeting was far more cordial—she did not bring a pistol. It was a point they both found amusing. Salazar was still looking for rebels and would be gone for at least a week longer.
“What are you going to write about my husband?”
“The truth. I’m a reporter and I like to do that as often as possible.”
“Will you say that he is a monstrous maniac?”
“If that’s the truth, yes, and I am investigating that possibility. My readers in America are fascinated by the type of person who would massacre the innocent men on the
Eldorado
and feel no qualms.” When she started to respond, he hushed her with a wave of his hand. “I know that Spain considers them to have been criminals and pirates, but they deserved a trial. Perhaps some or all could have been sentenced to jail and not executed. That would have been justice in accordance with established law. What your husband did was nothing short of murder. As a result of your husband’s actions, we now have a war between our two countries and people wonder why he did what he did.”