1882: Custer in Chains

Chapter 7

It took what seemed like an eternity to arrive at St. Augustine. To say that the train line from Charleston to St. Augustine was inadequate was a gross understatement. The gauge was narrow and the tracks and rail bed in such bad shape that the train could only crawl along lest it shake the tracks apart.

The detachment of doctors and nurses working under the flag of the Red Cross had been jammed into passenger cars that moved slowly through the humid Florida heat. It had been so hot inside the cars that a couple of them had passed out. Even though it was clear that efforts were being made to improve the tracks, the ongoing construction further hampered travel.

During one stop, Clara Barton gathered her flock in a local church. There were about fifty of them. Sarah and Ruth hung back, aware that their presence depended solely on how Miss Barton felt about enthusiastic volunteers who lacked professional training. There were some nurses who thought the two women had bought their way into the program and, to a large extent, they were right.

“We need to go to Cuba,” Barton announced.

“I need a bath,” muttered Ruth. Sarah agreed wholeheartedly. Sanitation had been miserable. They’d joked that the hogs on farms they’d passed had sneered at them.

Barton continued. “Towards that end, I have been petitioning and arguing with people in Washington and they have finally agreed. We will go to Cuba.”

This was met with applause and cheers. “However,” she said, “it will have to wait until the army has moved farther inland so we can set up a hospital in relative safety. That should only be a couple of days. In the meantime, we will move by ship to Key West where, I’ve been told, the conditions are even more primitive there than they have been.”

“I think I will take off all my clothes and jump into the ocean,” said Ruth as they left the church.

“An excellent idea if we can manage to not get arrested,” Sarah said.

“Try not to do that,” said Miss Barton, startling them. They had not heard her come up behind them. “I will need all my nurses. More importantly, the telegraph cable between Key West and Matanzas is now operational. Apparently someone in the government with half a brain had a ship laying cable for several days prior to the attack. Since the ship was showing British colors, the Spaniards left her alone.”

She handed Sarah a piece of paper. “This is an article sent north to the Washington Post. I believe the gentleman in question is an acquaintance of yours and that you are related to people in the First Maryland. You are to be congratulated.” She said and walked away.

“FAMED INDIAN FIGHTER LEADS CHARGE UP CUBAN MOUNTAIN,” by James Kendrick, the article proclaimed.

“Oh my God,” Sarah exclaimed.

It read, “Colonel Martin Ryder commander of the vaunted First Maryland Volunteers and considered by some to be one of the true heroes of the Battle of the Little Big Horn, led a charge by his regiment up the slopes of an enemy occupied mountain overlooking and threatening the American landings below at Matanzas.

Braving heavy enemy fire, Ryder and the rest of the regiment attacked the Spaniards, causing numerous enemy casualties and driving them off the peak of the mount. The fighting was intense and sometimes hand to hand. Shortly after taking the high point, the Spaniards counter-attacked and were driven off, again with heavy casualties.

The position has been named Mount Haney in honor of a senior sergeant who recognized the importance of the site and urged the attack.”

Sarah breathed deeply. She didn’t know whether to be afraid or relieved. Yes, Martin was safe, but did he have to put himself in harm’s way? Of course, she thought, that’s what soldiers did.

“I think I would like something strong, like a brandy or a whisky,” Sarah said.

Ruth smiled. “Since women are not allowed alone in a bar, I’ll get one of the doctors to purchase a bottle for us and we can drink it in our room. We’ll drink and you can dream about your precious Martin while I try to figure out how to get that lovely Sergeant Haney into my bed. Mount Haney? Perhaps Sergeant Haney would like to mount me. I’d also like to know how the devil he got a mountain named after him.”

* * *

Custer wadded the newspaper and through it across their White House bedroom. “Why the bloody hell does this Ryder person keep coming back to haunt me and why is Kendrick standing beside him again?”

Libbie put down the brush she was using on her long and rich reddish brown hair. She checked the brush for anything gray and found nothing. “George, don’t let it get to you. The army has just won a great victory. Who cares who commanded it? You’re the president, the commander in chief. You’re the one who’ll reap the glory. Maybe Martin Ryder will be able to parlay this into a general’s star and a seat in congress, but that’s about it. And as to Kendrick, he’s a reporter, nothing more. When the war is over, you will review the troops in the victory parade down Pennsylvania Avenue and they will all salute you as their leader, their commander in chief. Perhaps you will even pin a medal on Ryder’s chest. But don’t forget, this is your war and it’ll be your victory.”

“You’re right,” he grumbled. “But I should be there.”

Libbie sighed. “And you know all the reasons you can’t. Congress would go into a state of shock, for one thing, if you ever left the country. They wouldn’t know what to do without your presence. It simply isn’t done.”

He sat down heavily on a chair by the bed. “Someday it will be done and I wouldn’t mind being the first to do it. If I went to Cuba it wouldn’t be as if I went to the moon. The last I checked, the telegram works quite well, thank you. The troops in Cuba need me, damn it. I am their commander in chief. I should be there.”

“The army is in good hands, George, even if the hands belong to Nelson Miles. In the meantime, dear husband, you will be the president who expands the United States beyond its continental boundaries. You will be the one who adds Cuba and Puerto Rico to our country as colonies. This will be the beginning of a true American empire.”

Custer laughed harshly. “That is if congress lets me.”

She stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

Custer was delighted to know something she didn’t. He had picked up on information that Libbie had not. “J. Warren Kiefer, our beloved Speaker of the House, has informed me that there is resistance in Congress to our annexing Cuba. The American people are thrilled that we are going to throw out the Spanish, but they do not want us to control Cuba in perpetuity. There will be a bill introduced limiting our involvement to three years. After that, the dark-skinned people of Cuban will have their freedom. I don’t understand Kiefer’s lack of support. He’s a fellow Republican. He should support the cause of expansion and not try to contain it.”

She jumped to her feet, her face red with anger. “That’s absurd! The Cuban people are no more ready to govern themselves than I am to fly. What does Blaine have to say?”

“Our equally beloved secretary of state, the man who would like to succeed me as president, is just as appalled as you are. It seems that everybody wants a good, cheap victory, but nobody wants the cost of governing such a large territory for anything but a minimal length of time. Blaine has been talking with Cuban rebels and he is certain that they have been visiting congressmen and even giving speeches across the U.S. They have convinced a large number of people that the honorable thing to do would be to liberate them, train them, and then leave as quickly as possible.”

Libbie was flushed with anger. “What about Puerto Rico?”

Custer shrugged. “Nobody much cares. It’s small enough so I guess it can remain ours.”

“Wonderful!” she snarled and threw her hairbrush across the room. “If Congress has its way our great American overseas empire will consist of one small shitty island.”

* * *

Maria Vasquez stayed for a week at Luis’ shop. The first few days she spent eating everything in sight and also reveling in the fact that she was not in the concentration camp. When she apologized to Luis for eating so much of his food, he simply laughed at her and told her he knew how to get much more. After that she began to wonder just what was going to happen in the future.

“Don’t worry,” said Luis dismissively. “Everything is under control. In a few days you will be sent to Matanzas where you will help a rebel leader named Diego Valdez. He knows of you and that you are smart and cunning. Do you speak English, by the way?”

“A little. I suppose I could get by.”

“Even better, but try to improve on it.”

“But how will I get out of Havana? Aren’t the authorities looking for me?”

Luis laughed so hard she thought he’d have a heart attack. “No, Maria, they are not looking for you. In fact, the camps are so disorganized that they don’t know if you even exist. All they are saying is that a prostitute sneaked up on a guard and injured him severely before robbing him.”

Maria didn’t know if she was disappointed or thrilled. “You mean I didn’t kill the fat pig?”

“No, although rumor has it that he might yet die. They say he has a fractured skull. Even if he does recover, he might never be the same.”

“What about the other soldier, the one who was going to try to go second.” And he would have, she thought. She would have been in no position to cry out or otherwise try to stop them. It was a given that she would never have received any of the food that she’d been promised. She had taken a terrible chance and had won, at least for now.

Luis laughed again, displaying the fact that he had no teeth. “Both of them have been broken to the rank of private for their stupidity. If this Ramon leaves the hospital, he will likely be discharged so he can beg on the streets. The other man, Carlos, has already been stripped of what rank he had and been sent to the front lines at Matanzas. By the way, with the gate unguarded, a number of other Cubans also escaped. You did very well, Maria.”

Maria beamed. “Thank you, but when I get to Matanzas and this Diego Valdez, I would like to do better, much better.”

* * *

“Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink,” muttered Ryder. “Does anyone know who was in charge of planning this operation? If you do, let me know so I can kill him.”

The entire First Maryland was now on the hill known throughout the army as Mount Haney. The regiment was well dug in and vegetation had been cleared away to provide fields of fire. It was a good, strong point except for some serious shortages.

“We need water,” said Ryder. “We can’t drink that stinking piss that’s in the swamps and streams around us, and we sure as hell can’t drink the salt water in the bay. Some of the men have and they are sicker than dogs.”

At Ryder’s direction, the men had begun filtering what passed for fresh water through layers of cloth to purge it of the crawly critters that infested it. It was slow and tedious, but did seem to provide some relief.

“I just wonder why the locals don’t get sick?” asked Barnes. “Next time one of us sees a doctor, or a nurse like my sister, we should ask them, although I think it’s Darwinian.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe all the Cubans who are susceptible to getting sick and dying are already dead and the ones left are those naturally selected to survive? For some reason, the Cubans are immune to what makes us sick. Maybe it has something to do with skin color. Maybe God made black people immune because they are so primitive. Hell, maybe they haven’t fully evolved.”

Ryder shook his head. “Lord, what a lovely thought. That means we are condemned to a weeding out that’ll be of epic proportions. You may be saying that more of us will die from illness than fighting. Sadly, that’s not very far-fetched. If you read the casualty reports from the Civil War it happened a lot.”

Barnes lit a cigar and blew the smoke in the general direction of the foliage that surrounded them. He’d noticed that some of the bugs who seemed to be staring at them didn’t like it which was fine by him. “Along with water, we also need food, ammunition, and anything else that makes sense to send to an army that’s invading a foreign land.”

General Miles had been complaining loudly that all the first invasion fleet had brought was manpower and enough ammunition to fight one battle. They had enough tins of food to last a couple of more days, but, after that, the men would start going hungry. The only local crop was sugar cane and was totally useless as a food. The local Cubans had small farms and grew some vegetables, but not in sufficient quantity to feed the army, which had now grown to fifteen thousand souls. The locals had also prudently departed with their livestock which deprived the army of another source of food.

Nor had the army yet moved inland. General Miles was waiting for the arrival of a second transport fleet that would bring, along with an additional ten thousand men, some hoped for supplies.

Barnes had not agreed with that plan. “Instead of sitting here on our asses, we should be moving inland and planning to strike at the Spanish. Instead, we wait here for them to hit us.”

Ryder decided not to criticize his commanding officer in front of a subordinate even though he was seriously thinking of marrying said subordinate’s sister. His thoughts quickly went to his and Sarah’s last few hours together. They had not consummated their relationship, but their kissing and caressing had been incredibly torrid and passionate. It had been a most pleasant reminder that the lovely young widow was not a shy and innocent virgin.

Get back to reality, he commanded himself. There were good reasons for the army’s waiting. First, little more than half the army had arrived and, as already noted, it was terribly short of supplies. According to intelligence, the Spanish in Havana outnumbered them at least three to one and were entrenched in strong fortifications. It was felt that any American attacking force would be cut to shreds. Ryder was beginning to wonder if the entire invasion stood any chance of success. Some soldiers were already calling the expedition Custer’s Folly.

Gunfire could be heard in the distance. Both sides had patrols out along with the rebels who were aiding the Americans. Contact was inevitable and sometimes bloody.

Someone shouted that men were approaching. He could see them through his binoculars. They were Cuban rebels, about a dozen of them. As they got closer, word was given that they should be allowed to pass.

Ryder grinned on seeing that their leader was Diego Valdez who saluted and waved expansively. “Colonel Ryder, I bring you two things. First there is a wagon approaching and on it are a number of barrels of water. It will taste like guano, which is bird shit, but it will quench your thirst and not kill you.”

“Bless you, Captain Valdez.” Valdez laughed at the rank he’d been given. “And what’s the second thing?”

“The Spanish have finally stirred themselves and a very large column is on its way to Matanzas.”

* * *

Gilberto Salazar had been angered at his regiment’s poor performance in trying to push the Americans off the hill overlooking Matanzas. His men had moved too slowly and tentatively; thus permitting a large American force to move onto the high ground and chase them off.

It was equally perplexing that General Weyler didn’t seem to care. Weyler commanded a mixed Spanish and Cuban force of about twenty-five thousand men that was moving exquisitely slowly towards Matanzas. It was almost as if the fire-breathing general didn’t want to fight the Americans. Impossible, he thought. Every Spaniard must feel that his honor had been impugned by the presence of the Americans.

Nor had his departure from his home in Havana been pleasant. Juana had been her usual bitchy self and had scarcely deigned to say goodbye. Helga had serviced him with typical German efficiency, satisfying him physically but not emotionally. Damn it to hell, he thought, he was going off to war. He deserved better from his women.

At Weyler’s command, he’d pulled his main force back about five miles from the Americans. He kept patrols out and there were constant brushes with the Americans and their rebel allies. Finally, after several days, General Weyler arrived with a strong escort. The main army was strung out behind him.

Weyler insisted on going close enough to see the American lines. “They are formidable,” he said on seeing the hills scarred by earthworks. “It will cost us a lot in Spanish blood, but with courage and God’s help we will throw them into the ocean.”

A puff of smoke emerged from the highest American held hill. A few seconds later, a cannon shell exploded several hundred yards in front of them. Weyler laughed. “Was that a gentlemanly warning to come no closer or were they panicked by the sight of us? I rather think the former, don’t you, major?”

“Perhaps they will run when they see our army formed up to attack.”

“That would be nice, but it will not happen.”

“May I ask when we will attack?”

“When we are ready, major, and not sooner,” Weyler said stiffly. He did not like the implied criticism. “However, I will say it will take at least a week for this sinfully slow army to arrive and get into position. Then we will have to bombard the Americans before we attack. A bombardment will likely cause very few American casualties, but to attack without one would dishearten our troops.”

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Colonel Sir.”

“Yes Haney.”

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

This message was short. It was directed to a lady named Bertha Downey in New Orleans, and she assumed that Bertha didn’t exist. It said that Bertha’s two sisters were going to depart within a day and might make a number of stops before actually arriving at their destination. The two sisters were the pair of Spanish battleships at anchor in Havana’s harbor. She had no idea where they were headed and could only inform the Americans that they were about to depart. As she watched after sending the telegram, the battleships’ horns sounded stridently. Their anchors were winched up and the two ships began their stately crawl through the crowded harbor and narrow entrance and out into the Caribbean. If any American warships were watching, she didn’t see them.

Matanzas was only a few hours steaming away, if that was the ships’ goal. She presumed that her message would be relayed to someone in Washington and then down to Matanzas. She’d heard that the Yanks had set up a telegraph station at their new base and hoped it was true. But then, how would they get the word out to American warships at sea?