1882: Custer in Chains

Chapter 4

The HMS Shannon was classified by the Royal Navy as a First-Class Armored Cruiser. She displaced almost six thousand tons and was armed with two ten-inch and seven nine-inch muzzle-loading cannon, along with a miscellany of smaller guns. Her top speed was only twelve knots and, even though she had a steam engine, she still carried masts and a full complement of sails.

Although only constructed in 1875 and recently re-fitted, the Shannon was considered a poorly designed warship. She was slow, had chronic engine troubles, and her coal bunkers were considered inadequate. The Shannon was considered a poor investment by the British government. She was, therefore, expendable.

All of this was why Great Britain was interested in either selling her or leasing her to the United States Navy. As bad as the Shannon was, she was better than anything in the United States Navy. Nor was the Shannon the only warship the British were willing to unload. Several other of her obsolete sister ships were on the market to the highest bidder. James Kendrick was hopeful that the high bidder would be the United States Navy.

Kendrick had come aboard in Baltimore only a couple of days after his White House visit with Libbie Custer. Somehow, the Custers had convinced the Royal Navy to ferry him to Havana. Nor was he the only American on board. Navy Commander George Dewey was also on board along with a young ensign named Paul Prentice who served as his aide.

Relations between the Americans and the British skipper were frosty. The captain didn’t like the idea of turning over his command to a bunch of damned Yankees and made no bones about it. Even though the decision hadn’t been made official or announced, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion. Kendrick and Dewey and the young Prentice stayed out of his way. Kendrick watched as Dewey quietly learned everything he could about the ship that might just be his to command.

“Amazing,” said Dewey. “This ship is only seven or so years old and she’s already obsolete. Naval technology is changing at breakneck speed. Even so, we will still buy her. She’s far, far better than any of the ships we have.”

“How long before we can use her against the Spanish?” Kendrick asked.

“If we bought her yesterday, it would still take several months before she was ready. Logistics is the curse of war. We would have to find and train officers and men to form a crew and then steam about in order to find and resolve all her idiosyncrasies, and I understand she has many. That and gunnery training will all take time. Additional time will be required if we are to sail with other American warships and not get disastrously in each other’s way.”

“Why can’t we rent the crew as well as the ship?”

Dewey laughed hugely. “Believe me, it was considered. Then cooler heads realized that there would be hell to pay in England if any of her sailors got killed fighting under an American flag.”

“I can’t believe she still has a supply of sails.”

“Even in modern ships, sails are needed for two reasons. First, a ship like the Shannon can carry only so much coal and supplies of coal are often not readily available. Therefore, she will use her sails and conserve fuel every chance she gets. Second, the engines of a modern ship are picky things. Sometimes they simply break down and, since there are no telegraph lines from ships to other ships or the shore, there must be a means of moving a crippled ship. If not, a ship could become a hulk filled with starving men.”

“Makes sense,” Kendrick conceded.

“There is a third reason I neglected to mention and that is tradition. Far too many senior officers think that a ship without sails is repugnant and they absolutely hate to see the clean lines of a sailing ship spoiled by black coal smoke spewing from a stack. Some days I agree with them.”

There were still clipper ships sailing and Kendrick fondly recalled how graceful and lovely they looked. “Sadly, sailing ships will be either for pleasure or be relegated to a museum.”

“And the world will be less for that,” said Dewey, “but no sailing ship should ever be in a modern naval battle. But tell me, what will you do when we arrive in Havana? After all, you are an American.”

Dewey laughed. “We will be in Havana for only a day. It will be a brief courtesy call and the ship’s crew won’t even get liberty. As for me, I will be trying hard to stay out of sight. While they may suspect my presence, I am confident the Spaniards will turn a blind eye to my being here.”

And so it happened. The Shannon steamed slowly through the narrow entrance to Havana Harbor and under the guns of the fortresses of Morro Castle and La Cabana.

“What are you thinking, Commander?” Kendrick asked as they looked at the Spanish fortifications.

“That the forts are centuries old and in disrepair and that the guns are largely rusted relics. Still, they could cause a great deal of damage to any ships trying to navigate the narrow harbor opening before being blown to pieces by modern naval guns.”

The forts were symbols of a bygone age and an empire that had decayed and almost disappeared. But Dewey was correct-even ancient cannon could kill.

They anchored in the harbor only a couple of hundred yards off the city’s waterfront. The buildings were mainly stone and were painted many colors. Havana was a bright and lively city, Kendrick concluded. He said goodbye to Dewey and, along with the Shannon’s captain, was rowed in the captain’s boat to the dock. Several political types and one man in what Kendrick presumed was a naval uniform waited for them. Kendrick was nudged away from the short receiving line. Officially, he wasn’t there.

He picked up his one suitcase and looked around. Finally, he saw Salazar standing beside a man in the uniform of a Spanish general. Christ, he thought, who is that?

He approached the two men. Salazar greeted him formally. He seemed slightly uncomfortable with the other man beside him. “Welcome to Cuba, Mr. Kendrick,” Salazar said, “and may I introduce you to Major General Valeriano Weyler, the recently arrived commander of all the Spanish army forces in Cuba.

* * *

Sarah was a superb rider. She took the uneven ground with ease and directed her horse to confidently jump small obstacles. She and the mare she’d chosen seemed to flow across the ground as one. Better, she looked delightful in the specially made denim jeans she wore. They were designed for her by the Levi Strauss and Company and fit her well. Ryder happily concluded that no one would mistake her for a boy.

It occurred to him that she was likely a better rider than he and she commented on it when they paused to give their horses a rest.

“You ride for pleasure,” he said, “while we in the cavalry ride for work. We use horses to get to our destination and generally dismount to accomplish our goals.”

“Such as when fighting Indians?”

“Precisely. Fighting on horseback largely went out when someone invented the rifle, and certainly diminished further when Mr. Gatling invented the machine gun. Most of the men in the Seventh Cavalry at the Little Big Horn hadn’t known which end of a horse was the front when they enlisted and that had been only a few months earlier. Even though they were listed as cavalrymen, they were not expert riders. Few soldiers are. As for me, even though West Point taught me to ride without hurting myself, my specialty was artillery and now I’m an infantry officer. I defer to your skills as a rider as well as your charm.”

She laughed and decided it was time to eat. They had brought sandwiches in their saddlebags and were pleased that neither the meat nor the cheese tasted too much like horse after their ride. A bottle of a local and mediocre white wine had been packed in ice and hadn’t gotten too warm, and they drank from small pewter glasses that had also been carefully packed.

“I’m enjoying myself,” she said and Ryder beamed. They were sitting in the shade of a large oak tree while their horses grazed and rested. “I just wonder how much longer it will be before you and my brother and all those other young men go off to war.”

“I hope it’s not too soon,” he answered solemnly. “First, we’re simply not ready although we’re one of the better trained regiments and, second, I rather like getting to know you.”

“Some women might think your comments very bold, Martin.”

“Do you?”

“No. Like you, I’m enjoying all this. But you didn’t answer my question-when do you think you’ll be leaving?”

“At first we were told a month at the most, although the dates keep changing as reality sets in. The truth is, nobody really knows when we’ll depart. Someday the army will tell us that we should have been there yesterday. The navy is gathering ships and some units have begun moving towards Florida. Since rail connection to most parts of Florida is miserable at best, those already heading to Florida are southern units. My regiment will depart by ship from Baltimore.”

“And where will you land and please don’t think I’m a spy. I’m no Rose Greenhow.”

Martin laughed at the idea of her comparing herself to the notorious Confederate spy. “I didn’t think you were and it doesn’t matter. I can’t tell you because I don’t know. I don’t even know who is going to command this army, much less where we’ll land. I sometimes wonder if anybody has a clue.”

* * *

President Custer slammed his fist down on the desk in his office. “There is no way in hell that that goddamned son of a bitch Winfield Scott Hancock is going to command my army.”

Army Secretary Robert Lincoln shook his head. “Even though he is not now in the army, Hancock is head and shoulders above anyone who currently is in the army. He’s commanded large forces and many people feel he was the man responsible for our victory at Gettysburg and not Meade.”

“I don’t give a rat’s fart what people think. Hancock ran against me in the last election and damn near won. I am not going to give him a chance to do it again and next time win just because he’s the country’s latest war hero. No, the army will be led by Nelson Miles.”

“Miles is a good Indian fighter, but that’s about it,” Lincoln said. “He’s never led a large force he doesn’t seem to inspire confidence in those he commands. Admittedly he’s brave, but he’s vain and stubborn, while Hancock is a proven fighter.”

“I don’t care what he inspires. Look, if I can’t have Miles, then I will command in person.”

With that, the others in the room looked aghast. Navy Secretary Hunt was the first to protest. “Sir, you know it is against tradition, perhaps even law, for a sitting president to leave the United States.”

“Maybe it’s time for the tradition to change.”

Secretary of State James Blaine decided it was time to intercede. “Mr. President, if you leave the country, who will be in charge, Vice President Arthur? You cannot be two places at once and even with the telegraph, you cannot deal with the problems of congress and the nation.”

“Shit,” muttered Custer, accepting defeat. “But I want Miles and that’s that.”

Reluctantly, they agreed that Nelson Miles would command the invasion force and the discussion moved to the subject of the navy. Secretary Hunt was more than a little pleased at the progress he’d made.

“Gentlemen, the three warships we bought from Great Britain are currently being re-fitted at Baltimore. They have been re-named the Atlanta, Boston, and Chicago. The Atlanta is ready to sail and will escort a number of troopships that are gathering there. We will utilize several of the smaller steam sloops to also protect the convoy. We are also arming and commissioning a number of civilian ships and have chartered several hundred other civilian ships as transports. I am confident that we can land upwards of fifteen thousand men in a first wave against the Spanish in Cuba. The only question I have is precisely where shall they land?”

“Well, it can’t be right at Havana,” said Lincoln. “That place is too heavily fortified. Our men would be slaughtered. Nor can it be Santiago. It’s too far away, several hundred miles in fact. We would have to fight our way across the length of Cuba and that’s a very long ways. If we want to get the campaign over before either the hurricane or fever seasons strike, we have to get closer.”

“Matanzas,” said Hunt. “It’s a small city about fifty crow-fly miles east of Havana and it has a decent harbor. Not a big harbor, but one that can handle a number of ships at a time. The troops can land outside the harbor while the ships carrying supplies can use the docks in the harbor.”

Custer nodded. “I like it, but is it well defended?”

Hunt winced. “We’ve just established a naval intelligence unit headed by one Lieutenant Theodorus Mason, but I’m afraid we know very little about the defenses at Matanzas.”

“Who would?” asked Custer.

Secretary of State Blaine smiled. “Why is suppose the Cubans would.”

* * *

James Kendrick rapidly came to the conclusion that Salazar was serious about having Spain’s side of the story told. He was put up in a small suite of rooms at one of Salazar’s mansions on the outskirts of Havana. He was only a few minutes ride from the harbor and wasn’t particularly surprised when, the day after his arrival, his host practically ordered him to ride with him to the harbor. The Spanish fleet was arriving.

They left their horses a few blocks from the waterfront and walked the rest of the way along with just about everyone in the city. What they saw truly was impressive. Both of Spain’s battleships had made port and they were accompanied by a number of steam sloops and smaller gunboats. The battleships were the Vitoria and the Numancia. Salazar proudly informed him that they displaced more than seven thousand tons and had a number of cannon that fired shells of more than six inches. He added that four cruisers were also en route to reinforce the Spanish fleet.

Kendrick had to admit that the grey bulk of the warships was menacing. The ships were functional and, in his opinion, ugly. They had none of the graceful lines of the sailing ships that had become obsolete. A pity, he thought, but why should the instruments of war and killing be graceful and lovely?

More important, the Spanish warships had escorted a number of transports that were disgorging a large number of soldiers. A second convoy, this one escorted by the cruisers would dock tomorrow or the next day.

Salazar was practically giddy with happiness and pride. “I hope you do not take offense, Kendrick, but you will see how the pride of Spain will crush the United States.”

“It is very impressive indeed. I wonder how long it will take for President Custer to find out about this.”

Salazar laughed. “I would say about ten minutes. The telegraph lines between here and Florida must be burning up. if you’d like, you can write a story about your impressions and I’ll see to it that it is given priority.”

“Would you want to clear it first?”

“Of course not. There’s not much to hide, is there?”

Kendrick agreed. He didn’t add that the two Spanish battleships were on the small side in comparison with most of the battleships of the Royal Navy. Nor did he add that the U.S. was attempting to buy some British ships of roughly similar size. He was fairly certain that the Spanish knew all about it. He now believed the rumors that Spain was attempting to buy warships from France were true.

Salazar took his arm. “Come, we shall go back to my home and have a good meal along with some excellent wine, perhaps a lot of excellent wine. I will introduce you to my family and you will see that I am not a total barbarian, merely a devoted Spanish patriot.”

Yes, Kendrick thought, and a Spanish patriot who murders prisoners and slaughters innocent Cubans. In preparing for the trip, he’d done some more homework on Salazar and found a number of stories in which his personal army had killed numbers of Cubans that he’d arbitrarily named as insurgents.

It occurred to him that Salazar might just become an embarrassment to the Spanish government. But not just yet, he thought.

* * *

Ryder laughed at the surprise on Sarah’s face. “It’s true. Since we’re at war, President Custer no longer wishes to be called president. He’d directed everyone to call him general.”

“That is incredibly pretentious.”

“Agreed, but I’m not going to be the one to tell him. I like being a full colonel. Perhaps I’ll even become a general before this is over.”

“How many would have to die for that to happen.”

He winced at the thought. These men were either his friends or those he respected. “Only a couple.”

They were seated on a couch in the living room of her country house. It had belonged to her late husband and, she’d informed him, it had six bedrooms on two levels. Even more important, her husband had installed indoor plumbing and a means for having hot flowing water. It occurred to Ryder that her husband must have truly loved her.

On her own, she had installed a sanitation device called a septic tank that had recently been invented in France.

Sarah had a staff that consisted of a cook, a woman who kept the house clean and did the laundry, along with a gardener, and a man who looked after the animals, including the horses and a handful of cows.

“They are all very loyal to me,” she said, then grinned. “Of course they are also very concerned that I’ll remarry and they’ll be out of a job. This is at least partly why they are protective of me and very concerned about any man I see.”

“And how many men do you see?” he teased.

“Not as many as you might think. I’m afraid I’ve discouraged most of them. They all seem to think that I would be happier and much better off if only I would let them handle my wealth, and that is simply not going to happen. I know that some men in business are shocked to find that they are dealing with a woman and others simply refuse to, but enough are concerned only with making a profit that I’m able to function. When things get difficult, I generally use my father or my brother as a go-between. They are both listed as vice presidents in my company.”

“Are you implying that you don’t think I’m after your money?”

She reached over and tapped him on the arm. “I’m usually a good judge of character and, no, I don’t think you’d try to seduce me for my wealth.”

She stood and walked to the window. “So now can you tell me when you’re leaving for Cuba?”

“It’s still vague and subject to change, but a couple of weeks at the most,” he said softly and he saw sadness in her face.

He stood by her at the window and she put her head on his shoulder. He would not tell her that his regiment was going to be the spearhead of the invasion. She didn’t need that worry. Then it dawned on him that she actually would be worried.

* * *

Secretary of State James G. Blaine was convinced that someday he would be President of the United States replacing George Armstrong Custer, the man he considered to be a flaming horse’s ass. Blaine was also convinced of America’s future in the world. The United States would become an even greater power than she currently was and the only way to do that was to explode beyond the limitations of her continental boundaries. Thus, the first steps in developing an overseas American Empire involved taking Cuba and Puerto Rico from the rotten Spanish Empire.

When those lands became under American control, it would be time to look farther afield, to such places as the Philippines, or Hawaii, or even lands near the Isthmus of Panama where a canal might someday be built. Since everyone in Europe was taking chunks out of China’s carcass, he thought that an American equivalent to Hong Kong on the Chinese coast might be feasible.

Blaine sighed. He was thinking big, perhaps too big. First Cuba had to be taken. Thus, this day he was quietly and secretly meeting with a representative of the Cuban insurgents.

“Senor Cardanzo,” he said with a look of warmth he didn’t feel. “It’s a pleasure to meet with a representative of those also fighting Spain.”

Cardanzo was a small dark man in his forties. Blaine was not comfortable dealing with black men as equals and Cardanzo sensed it.

“I’m proud and honored to meet you, Mr. Blaine. Now, to be blunt, how can we help each other?”

Good, Blaine thought, let’s get this over with. “We need information, and you and others in your movement are in a position to provide it. We would like to know the disposition of the Spanish army and the strength of the Spanish defenses.”

Cardanzo was puzzled. “Why are you asking this and not representatives of your army or navy?”

“Let’s just say that our intelligence gathering resources are not what they should be. Also, I am in a position to offer you something after the Spanish are expelled.”

Cardanzo smiled. “Independence?”

“Perhaps in a while, a very short while, we would be able to support Cuban independence. We would have to remain in charge to ensure a peaceful turnover to the Cuban population.”

“Would you feel that way if we were white?”

“Your candor is appreciated and you are correct. If you and your compatriots were white we would not have many of the concerns we have. Let’s face it Mr. Cardanzo, the only successful nations in the world today are those governed by white people. If you want to see what could happen if unprepared non-whites are in charge, you have to look no farther than the bloodbaths that took place in Haiti and the constant revolutions that are occurring in those Central and South American nations that were once the property of Spain.”

Cardanzo was not impressed by that logic. “You realize, of course, that if the tyranny of Spain is replaced by the tyranny of the United States, there will be continued fighting.”

Blaine leaned back in his chair. “Is that a threat, sir?”

“Hardly. My people would not ever want to fight their liberators. But it could be a statement of reality. My people want independence, not simply a change. However, being controlled by America would be far better than being the enslaved property of Spain. Yes, we will provide you with what information we can glean and we will trust you to do what is right for the people of Cuba. After all, I’m certain that you would not want an army in Cuba during the fever season. Thousands of your soldiers would likely die if that should happen.”

“Wouldn’t that happen to the Spanish army?”

“Of course, Mr. Blaine, but Spain doesn’t care about the poor creatures in its army, while the United States does.”

With that they shook hands and Cardanzo departed. He had barely left the room when Blaine muttered “nigger” under his breath.

Outside, Cardanzo met with a couple of his compatriots. “It is as I feared,” he said. “The United States wants us to be their colony. The only question is for how long. Forever is a possibility. But waiting for a new president to be elected and replace Custer is more likely. If we make it difficult for the Americans, perhaps they will let us go sooner. First, they have to defeat the Spanish and we will help them. Then, if necessary, we will deal with the Americans just as we are now dealing with Spain.”

* * *

Master Sergeant Haney spoke very little Spanish. Thus, he was somewhat surprised when he was chosen by Colonel Ryder to scout the lands and bays near the city of Matanzas.

He was slipped into Cuba by a small and foul smelling fishing boat. When he got off in the middle of the night, he was greeted by another man who told him in surprisingly good English that his name was Diego. Diego added that he was a member of the rebellion, which Haney hoped was the case. If not and he was a Spanish army officer, Haney was likely spend several years in a miserable prison if he wasn’t hanged outright. What happened to the men of the Eldorado was on everyone’s mind.

Diego led him inland; carefully staying off the dirt paths he called roads. “I think this is want you want to see,” he said as they breasted a gentle hill just a mile or two inland from the city.

Haney nodded and looked around. The hill was only a few hundred feet high. It wasn’t much of a vantage point but it would do. From it he could see the city of Matanzas itself. He estimated the population at about ten thousand. The bay looked like it could handle a number of good sized ships, but it also looked like it was silting up. That, he concluded, would severely limit the number and size of ships that could unload at any one time.

He also wondered why the navy hadn’t sent someone along with him. He’d asked that question when Colonel Ryder suggested that he volunteer and was told that the navy was too busy trying to round up ships to spend time scouting inland Cuba. They said it was the army’s business.

“I don’t see any fortifications,” Haney said. Even though it was night, the moon and stars allowed him to see that the land was undisturbed. What he assumed were sugar cane and tobacco were growing in fields, but no entrenchments or cannon could be seen.

“That’s because there aren’t any. All the work is being done to protect Cuba is happening just outside Havana. There they are digging in like beavers, building fortifications that will stop any army. I understand the Spanish are now bitterly regretting tearing down Havana’s defensive walls only a few years ago. Little places like Matanzas have been left to their own devices.”

Haney didn’t like hearing about the fortifications around Havana, but his job was to scout out the Matanzas area. “Are you telling me there are no troops here?”

Diego laughed. “Of course there are soldiers, just not too many of them. I estimate several companies, perhaps a battalion. You should be able to crush them when you attack.”

Haney was too much of a realist to accept such optimistic estimates. After all, hadn’t Custer said the Indians would run when the Seventh Cavalry approached? Unconsciously he rubbed a scar on his shoulder where a Sioux arrow had stuck in his flesh. He still remembered the pain when a surgeon pulled it out.

Haney was about to comment when he heard voices. They were close and getting closer. Shit, he thought. The two men quickly tried to make themselves invisible in the dark.

Three Spanish soldiers passed them only a few feet away. They were talking loudly and not paying much attention to the world around them. Garrison duty and going out on the occasional patrol were not too arduous despite the war, Haney concluded.

He was about to exhale and thank their lucky stars when Diego suddenly screamed, bolted from his hiding place, and slashed at one of the soldiers with his machete, ripping the man’s throat.

The wounded soldier fell while the other two wheeled in disbelief. Christ, thought Haney. What the hell had just happened? He pulled his revolver and a Bowie knife and joined in the assault. Diego was wrestling with a second soldier while the third tried to bring his rifle to bear. Haney plunged his knife into the belly of the third and ripped upwards. The man screamed and fell back. Haney waited until he had a chance and then used the handle of his revolver to crack the skull of the man wrestling with Diego. He hit the man several more times before the soldier let go and went limp. Haney checked to see if any were alive. None were. Even the man he’d stabbed had stopped breathing and was gazing at the night sky with blank eyes.

Diego staggered to his feet. He was covered with blood, but most of it wasn’t his. “Thank you, my friend. You saved my life.”

Haney wiped his knife on the shirt of one of the dead soldiers. “Yeah, and your bullshit action might have gotten us killed.”

“You are right,” he said contritely. “But when I saw their uniforms I couldn’t help myself. They are from a regiment formed and led by Gilberto Salazar. They are the ones who massacred your fellow Americans on that ship. More important to me, they are the devils who slaughter Cubans they think are rebels just because they are wandering and looking for food. A while back, they killed my sister but not until many soldiers abused her. When the soldiers were through with her, they cut her throat and left her to bleed to death on the ground. She was fourteen.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Haney as he looked around nervously, “but these guys comrades are going to be looking for them very soon. You better get me back to that dinky boat so I can get the hell out of here.”

“You’re right that we must move, but there is no hurry. They won’t be missed for several hours and we will be many miles from here by then.”

“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 unforgiveable and it will not happen again. Unfortunately, this lack of discipline is common in our army. Everyman 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 housekeepers’ sometimes very large ears picking up gossip.

“Do you miss marriage?” Ruth asked.

“Sometimes very much. Walter was a very good man, very 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 very much. Despite the fact that he was older, neither one of us was all that experienced as lovers, but we both learned very rapidly. We enjoyed each other immensely. What about you?”

“I miss it very much 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 very 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, very rarely, jewelry. Jewelry was too special and unique and he could only sell it for a fraction of its real value. Sometimes he would actually 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 summarily 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. Like 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 just 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 blood-letting. 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, just 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.