1882: Custer in Chains

Chapter 22

Lang’s intended lightning thrust towards the British Consulate had confronted reality. The old streets of Havana were filled with retreating Spanish soldiers who were fighting each other as well as Cuban rebels. Black smoke filled the air and hot ashes from burning homes and buildings fell on them. Lang thought that the city of Havana was burning and being turned to cinders just like ancient Rome had been destroyed under Nero.

Lang’s men moved as a compact mass towards what they felt was the right direction. The streets were narrow and congested and, even with Diego Valdez and a score of his men to help, they got lost a couple of times. Some roads were little more than alleys. Several times they were confronted by groups of Spanish soldiers who, on seeing the disciplined Americans, melted away. Only one time did a Spaniard open fire on them and he was cut down in a barrage of gunfire. Lang commented that moving through Havana was like swimming upstream against a school of desperate fish.

The Spanish were fighting the Cubans and the Americans, and the Cubans were fighting each other as the last act of a brutal civil war played out in the blood-soaked streets. Several times, Valdez and his men had to be restrained from exacting brutal revenge against their oppressors. Valdez’s mistress, Maria, accompanied him and tried to act as a calming influence. As a result, atrocities were at a minimum.

Many Spaniards wished to surrender, but accepting their surrender was not the purpose of Lang’s column. Their goal was the British Consulate and the rescue of President George Armstrong Custer. That Custer was imprisoned with other Americans who were far more popular and personally more important to Lang and the other Americans was irrelevant. They had a task assigned to them.

They passed the smashed and smoldering fortress of Castillo del Principe. Ahead they could see the spires of the Cathedral of San Cristobal. Smoke was swirling around it as well. “My world is burning,” said Valdez. Maria caught up with them and held Valdez’s arm.

“You’ll have a long time to rebuild it,” answered Lang.

Lang signaled a halt. Ahead of them was their goal, the large enclave that was the British Consulate and the home of Redford Dunfield. The massive wooden doors were open and smoke was pouring from a number of windows. Bloody bodies were strewn around the outside of what had been a magnificent estate.

They moved cautiously to the main entrance and walked in, their weapons at the ready. They passed more bodies as they entered the central courtyard. There was silence. Lang wondered if the place had been abandoned. If so, where the devil was Custer?

“Hello,” Lang hollered. “Anybody home,” he added and immediately felt foolish for saying that. A couple of his men snickered nervously and he silenced them with a glare.

Valdez yelled something in Spanish and there was still silence. “This is the United States Army,” Lang added. “Come out. You are safe.”

There was a rustling noise followed by a woman’s voice. “Is that you, Captain Lang?”

Lang breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes it is, Mrs. Damon, although I regret to inform you that neither your general nor Sergeant Haney are with us.”

Sarah and Ruta emerged from a hallway. They were filthy and bruised and their clothing was torn. Each was carrying a rifle and had a pistol stuck in their waistbands.

“I hope you have a doctor with you. President Custer was badly wounded in the fighting. I’m afraid he might die.”

* * *

General Weyler had a hard time finding the current headquarters of Governor General Villate as he had moved it several times in response to changing threats from both the Americans and the Cuban insurgents. Finally, he located it in a small abandoned hotel. A number of staff officers were wandering around in confusion. They looked lost and thoroughly dispirited. Weyler grabbed the arm of a captain he knew was an aide to Villate.

“Captain Avila, where the hell is the general?”

The captain laughed harshly. “How the devil would I know? I haven’t seen him in hours. It is my firm belief, General Weyler, that the bird has flown and is now on the high seas and headed for some other country that will give him and his money sanctuary.”

Weyler grabbed the Avila by the collar. “Are you saying that he has deserted his post?”

Avila laughed, almost hysterically. His world was crashing around him. “Yes, General. Tell me, do you see him around? No, and nobody has, like I said, for some time. The last time I did see him he had several foot lockers and other pieces of luggage ready to be loaded onto a waiting carriage. I thought he was merely moving his quarters again, but he had already told me that he would not return to Spain in disgrace for losing Cuba where he would have to endure a court martial and possibly a hanging. Even if he wasn’t hanged, he would suffer eternal shame and disgrace. I believe those boxes and luggage contained money and securities to help him set up a new and prosperous life in another country. I have been looking at some of Villate’s correspondence and I now know that he had been in contact with a man who owned a fishing boat. I do not believe that the American navy would concern itself with such an insignificant craft if he should try to flee in it.”

Weyler could see Avila’s logic. “Then we won’t even consider him.”

“With respects, General Weyler, I believe that you are the next senior officer. Therefore, the command of the armies and government of Cuba now rests on your shoulders.”

Villate you bastard, Weyler thought, but then smiled. The old man had done him a favor. Yes, he would likely have to surrender, but the shame would be Villate’s and not his. There would be an inquiry in Madrid where scorn would be heaped on Villate’s absent head. He, Valeriano Weyler, would be found guilty of nothing more than inheriting Villate’s mess. He would show how he had fought bravely but had been betrayed by his leader. He would survive and likely be given an even more important command by a grateful Spain and king.

“Get me any senior officers you can find. We have to begin negotiating an end to this war.”

* * *

Against the advice of his staff, Ryder had entered Havana. He had gotten word that President Custer had been shot and that Sarah, Ruta, and the others were safe. Although he was not in the slightest bit fond of Custer, he could not bring himself to wish ill to the foolish man. He had sent a doctor on ahead with orders to get to the consulate as quickly as possible. As to his responsibilities, he still had a brigade to coordinate as it moved deeper and deeper into the mass of buildings, many of them burning, that was Havana.

The news that a Spaniard had shot Custer had spread rapidly throughout the army. It angered the American soldiers who were fighting even more ferociously than before. Rifle fire and Gatling guns were destroying any resistance that the Spanish could manage. If something didn’t happen, the battle could turn into a massacre as other American forces had penetrated other parts of Havana’s defenses. Pywell took picture after picture and Martin wondered how many of them would turn out. Enough, he hoped, so that the world would see the carnage.

Whenever they could, soldiers yelled in Spanish for the enemy to surrender. They were told that they would be protected and treated well. They were told that they would be sent home if that was their wish. It was beginning to work. Numbers of Spanish soldiers had thrown down their rifles and begun walking towards them with their hands up. Their expressions said that they were terrified they would be murdered by the American soldiers. Numerous white flags were waving from windows as well as by individual soldiers. Ryder gave the order to cease fire and an uneasy silence descended. Without being ordered, Spanish soldiers lay down their arms and nervously stepped away.

Whole units had begun surrendering. Spanish officers willingly took charge and organized a parade of disconsolate and unarmed men heading out of Havana. Ryder had no idea where they would go and didn’t give a damn. He was, however, shocked at how many there were. Hopefully, there were too many for the Cuban rebels to massacre. He hoped somebody was taking charge of protecting the prisoners from any attempt at massacre.

“Haney, with decent training and leadership, they could have either held out forever or chewed us to little pieces.”

“Thank God, St. Patrick, and Richard Gatling for saving us,” Haney said. “Now, general dearest, let’s find that damned consulate.”

Before they could advance further, a Spanish captain waving a white flag approached them nervously. “Are you a senior officer?” he asked.

Before Ryder could answer, Haney stepped in front of him, and snapped to attention and glared at the poor man. “I am an aide to General Martin Ryder. Who the devil are you?”

The captain looked like he was going to cry. “I am Captain Joaquin Avila, the senior aide to General Valeriano Weyler who is now the Governor General of Cuba. My general would like to find a senior officer to accept the surrender of all the Spanish forces in Cuba.”

Ryder’s mind reeled. From Hancock on down they had thought that the Spanish would be forced to surrender Havana, but this man had just said that Weyler was willing to surrender all of Cuba. Jesus. He turned to a young American officer who was watching and listening with his mouth open. “Lieutenant, run back to where the field telegraph reaches and send messages to Generals Hancock, Benteen, and Miles. Tell them that Weyler wishes to surrender all of Cuba and not just Havana. Tell them that I am going to accept that surrender on their behalf and order a cease fire to take affect at least in my area.”

* * *

Prentice had managed to cadge a lift back to the Orion where Janson’s ship was in line to enter the confines of Havana’s harbor. Gunfire from the Spanish side of the narrow channel had been reduced to sporadic small arms fire. To further protect the lightly armored auxiliary cruiser, Janson had the port side of the hull draped in wood planks to help keep bullets from piercing the Orion’s thin hull.

A pair of Gatling guns had been mounted on the port side as well, and bursts of bullets had silenced almost all of the remaining enemy gunners. In his opinion, it was indeed becoming the age of the machine gun.

Prentice fully understood the difficulty of moving a large and cumbersome machine gun while under fire. Mounting guns on a stable but moveable platform such as a ship was an ideal use of the deadly weapons. Not only could the guns rake enemy positions, but they could also be used effectively against attacks by small boats.

“In for a penny,” said Janson as the ship entered the narrow channel. Buildings and fortifications on both sides were smoking and some were in flames. Prentice held his breath as they moved slowly through what was clearly the most dangerous part of their journey.

Then the channel widened and they emerged into the harbor. “Dante’s Inferno,” said Prentice.

“If Dante wrote about a city on fire, then you’re right.”

Clouds of smoke partly obscured the sunlight and made them choke. Prentice hoped he wasn’t choking on ashes from human flesh, then decided there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had come a long way in the last few months and wasn’t certain he liked the trip. It had been one thing to sink an enemy gunboat and then a battleship, but killing that man in the Spanish fort had been difficult to deal with, even though the man had been attacking him and it had occurred so quickly. He would never get over the look on the man’s face as he lay there mortally wounded from Prentice’s sword stroke. Now it was terrible to watch a proud and ancient city burning to death.

Large numbers of small boats sailed or steamed past them, clearly trying to escape to the open sea. “I suppose we should try to stop them,” said Janson, “but there are so damn many of them. Besides, the admiral doesn’t seem too concerned, so why should we.”

“Oh my God,” Prentice exclaimed. “Look at that!”

Many of the buildings lining the once beautiful waterfront were burning and the streets were packed with Spanish soldiers. Most of them were without weapons while others threw their rifles into the harbor. Some were waving white flags and others simply waving their arms in a frantic attempt to show that they were harmless. A soldier fell into the water, pushed by those behind him. More followed. Only a couple surfaced.

“We could kill a thousand with one volley,” said Janson. “Unless given a direct order from Admiral Porter I will not fire, and perhaps not even then. It would be like slaughtering sheep or chickens.”

Signal flags fluttered from the flagship. Prentice interpreted. “We are to anchor but keep up steam. No small boats will be allowed near us. I guess that’s in case they try to rush us and overwhelm us.”

“Makes sense. Somehow, though, I don’t think the good admiral expected this sort of reception. Nope, I’ll bet you a dollar that the old war dog expected to fight his way in and may just be a little disappointed, just like he might have been when the Spanish squadron surrendered without a fight.”

Prentice laughed softly. “Skipper, I’m not the slightest bit disappointed.”

* * *

Salazar’s legion now consisted of himself and two very nervous soldiers. He was convinced that they would run at the first chance, so he kept his revolver out and watched them carefully. He would not put it past them to attack him and rob him.

He had given considerable thought to where Juana and Kendrick would go and decided there was only one logical conclusion. With escape through the crumbling Spanish lines and out to the Americans still impractical because of ongoing fighting; that left only the residence of Juana’s uncle, the esteemed Bishop Estefan Campoy.

Salazar pounded on the door of the bishop’s residence and it was opened fairly quickly. The bishop stood before him, his arms folded across his chest. “You may not enter here.”

Salazar growled and pushed the cleric aside. Campoy again tried to stop him and Salazar knocked him down. When Campoy got to his feet, his face was bloodied. “You have struck a man of the cloth. You have committed a grievous sin.”

Salazar laughed. “Add it to the list.”

Campoy tried to block Salazar’s entrance to the kitchen. Juana and Kendrick stood against a wall. They were unarmed and looked almost resigned to their fate. Kendrick had armed himself with a kitchen knife, which Salazar thought was hilarious.

Salazar howled with glee and aimed his pistol at them. “You are going to die.”

“No,“ said the bishop. “If you shoot them you will be guilty of the crime of murder. I will testify at your trial and you will hang.”

“No, bishop, that simply will not happen,” Salazar said. “Don’t you think I planned for this eventuality? I knew they would come running to you if they got out of the Consulate. Now I am going to kill them and when they are dead I will fall on my knees and beg you to hear my Confession. As a good priest, you will be obliged to do so and then confession of my crime will be protected by the seal of the confessional. You will not be permitted to testify against me according to the rules of Holy Mother Church.

Campoy groaned. “Don’t do it,” he pleaded. “Don’t kill them.”

Salazar pushed the bishop aside. Neither Kendrick nor Juana moved, which puzzled him. They even seemed to be looking over his shoulder. At what? Did they see God? Perhaps they were paralyzed with fright? He raised his right arm, but his right arm wouldn’t respond. Seconds later, torrents of pain overwhelmed him and he dropped to his knees. The pistol dropped uselessly to the floor. Instinctively, he tried to reach it with his left hand, but he felt something smash into that shoulder as well. He howled and he fell onto his back. He looked up and saw a demon.

“Why did you have to kill her?” Hector Rojas asked in a flat, dull voice. His large hammer hung loosely from the leather loop around his hand.

The agony from the broken bones in Salazar’s shoulders made speech almost impossible. “Get me a doctor,” he managed to gasp.

“No doctor,” Rojas said calmly. He swung the hammer and smashed Salazar’s left kneecap. “Again, why did you kill her?”

“She angered me,” Salazar managed to gasp through his agonies. “She said I wasn’t a man.” He looked wildly for the two men who were supposed to protect him. They weren’t around. Either they’d fled or Rojas had killed them. The bishop was standing with Juana and Kendrick.

“She was right. You aren’t a man,” Rojas said as he swung the hammer and destroyed Salazar’s right kneecap, causing his incoherent screams to reach an even higher crescendo. “Mercedes was a wonderful woman. She was kind and thoughtful and you killed her like she was a bug. She should be alive and you should not be. I am going to correct at least part of that.”

Rojas swung the hammer again and brought it down on Salazar’s skull, smashing it. Rojas could hear Juana vomiting and the bishop praying. He wiped the mess that had been Salazar’s brains off of the hammer and turned to the bishop. “I have killed a helpless man and I want you to hear my confession.”

Campoy swallowed. “With pleasure. We will go into the other room and you will confess this and any other sins you might have committed. Your penance will be light because you have killed a monster. When that is done, perhaps we can discuss your taking employment with me. You would be in charge of protecting the cathedral and all its valuables.”

Rojas smiled. He would have a good job along with all the wealth that he had taken. “I would like that.”

The bishop continued. “I have seen Mercedes’ will and she has left a goodly part of it to you. You took care of her and she will take care of you.”

Rojas nodded. He wondered if the bishop suspected that he had looted money from Mercedes’ safe. Ah well.

Juana was wide-eyed and stunned at the turn of events and Kendrick wasn’t in much better shape. Campoy took both of Juana’s hands in his and smiled with genuine joy. “My dearest niece, it very much looks like you are now a widow. All of our wishes and prayers have come true. If you wish to marry this fire-breathing pagan, I will dispense with any formalities and marry you right after I hear this other gentleman’s confession.”

Juana smiled and grabbed Kendrick’s arm. “The pagan and I would like that very much.”

Campoy hugged her. “After the nuptials I would strongly urge you to leave Cuba as quickly as you can. The fever season is coming and I don’t know how well the Americans are prepared for it.”

“You can count on it,” said Kendrick. “I have a book to write.”