1882: Custer in Chains - eARC Page 4

  “Now,” Salazar yelled. He stood and opened fire with his pistol and was delighted when a woman he’d aimed at staggered and fell.

  His men responded with well-disciplined fire that ripped through the rebels, throwing them around like toys. They howled and tried to escape to their right and left, but his men followed them with their rifles, cutting them down.

  In less than a minute it was over. Salazar figured that a few had made it to safety, but that was not a major concern. Let them tell of the punishment Gilberto Salazar could inflict on the enemies of Spain.

  His men had commenced picking through the dead and the wounded. The men were executed immediately, as were the young boys. His philosophy was that pups could grow up to become wolves, so they needed to die. The few surviving women and young girls were handed over to his men who had already stripped them and were raping them on the ground. They would not survive their ordeal. His men would make sure of that.

  He would not take a woman from this group. Not only were they black, but they were filthy. He had a wife and a mistress and his choice of the many Spanish ladies in Havana, should he desire it. What he would like to do now is go home and bathe and put on a uniform as befitting his rank and his victory.

  He thought it would also be nice to be able to advertise his victories. He had been thinking it would be advantageous for Spain to have these printed in American newspapers where they would doubtless be misinterpreted as atrocities. How difficult, he wondered, would it be to have an American reporter on hand to witness them? He quickly thought of Kendrick, the man he’d permitted to live after the others on that pirate ship had been thrown to the sharks. Would Kendrick come to Cuba? Of course he would, Salazar decided. All reporters lusted after good stories and he could provide one, and a war to boot.

  * * *

  Across the field and well hidden in the dense growth, Diego Valdez watched as the massacre played out. He’d been one of the fortunate ones. He’d been on the far right flank and had quickly seen that safety lay by running in that direction. He’d been slightly wounded in the leg, but was otherwise unhurt. He’d told the fool in charge of the group that they were being pushed to an ambush, but that man, now dead, would hear nothing of it. His idea of an escape plan was to have everyone run as hard and as blindly as they could.

  After a while the screams died down and only a few moans were heard as the soldiers finished with the women. When done, they slashed the women’s throats and left them. Diego would not go out to check on them until later, if at all. Even though one of the women was his sister, he couldn’t risk looking for her until it was truly safe. He would have to save his grief for later. He wouldn’t put it past Salazar to leave men behind to look for survivors and those wanting to help them. Being lighter skinned had helped him in the past, but he doubted there would be any advantage today. No, he would return to Havana, swallow his anger and shame, and try to earn a quiet living, all the while thinking of a way to win freedom for Cuba.

  Chapter 3

  Custer was annoyed and showed it by angrily tapping his fingers on the highly polished table. The response among his cabinet had been less than enthusiastic and there was actually resistance to his ideas for the prosecution of the war. Congress had just passed the declaration of war with a vote that was far from unanimous, and he wanted to move on it quickly before enthusiasm waned even farther. But now his Secretaries of War and Navy were telling him that quick action was impossible.

  The president accepted the fact that there would be logistical problems, even nightmares. He already knew that from his prior military experience. An army “moves on its stomach” was an oft mentioned quote by Napoleon and it was still true. Neither the army nor the navy was large or well-equipped. The massive forces that had been built to crush the Confederacy were but fading and rusting memories.

  Equally important, Libbie wasn’t with him at the meeting and he felt uncomfortable without her incisive comments. The world was not ready for a woman assistant to the president. She was, however, listening in the next room and they would talk about it later as they always did.

  Robert Todd Lincoln, son of Abraham Lincoln, was the Secretary of War and the first bearer of bad tidings. “Sir, as an Indian fighter, you well know that the army is small and scattered all over the west. There are barely enough men to keep the Indians in their reservations. We cannot take that army and send it east to either protect our coast or invade Cuba without putting just about every city west of St. Louis at risk.”

  “But it will have to be done,” Custer replied testily. “If we are going to develop our volunteer units, then their senior officers must come from the pool of officers and even senior enlisted men we currently have out west. Perhaps we shall require the western states and territories to supply their own volunteers. If they won’t send them to fight the Spanish, perhaps they will use them to protect their homes against the Indians.”

  Lincoln continued. “Do you have any idea how many men will be needed to invade and conquer Cuba? General Sheridan’s estimate is at least a hundred thousand, and all of them will have to be fed, clothed, housed, and provided with weapons and ammunition. This is based on our estimate that the Spanish have at least fifty thousand of their own soldiers in Cuba along with an unknown number of loyal militia. We can assume that Spain will quickly reinforce their garrisons both in Cuba as well as Puerto Rico. We can also assume that reinforcements are on their way from Spain or North Africa as we speak. A successful invasion of Cuba will not be easy. If done halfheartedly or ineptly, it could be a disaster.”

  Custer growled something and Lincoln continued. “Sir, it is highly unlikely that we will get that many volunteers, maybe half that number. Then, we will have to supply and support those troops in Cuba and we simply do not have the resources to do that.”

  Custer glared at him. “Then we will make do with what we can.”

  Lincoln was shocked. “Surely you’re not suggesting that one American is worth ten Spaniards or anything like that.”

  “Of course not,” Custer said angrily. “I learned that on the Little Big Horn. But I will say that one American volunteer is worth more than one poorly trained, poorly armed and poorly led Spanish conscript.”

  William H. Hunt, the fifty-eight year old Secretary of the Navy decided it was his turn to comment.

  “Mr. President, as I have been trying to inform you since your inauguration, the navy is in even worse shape than the army. The mighty fleet of ironclads and other ships we had during the Civil War has either been scrapped or the ships are little more than barely floating piles of rust. Worse, those few that remain afloat are obsolete. Naval technology is increasing at a rapid rate while we have been either standing still or moving backwards. We have a number of ships, but they are all either small, old, obsolete, or all of the preceding. In fact, many of our so-called warships are wooden sloops and schooners that were inadequate before the Civil War commenced. Simply put, we have no ships capable of defending the troop ships and supply ships that we might send to Cuba.”

  “Damn it to hell,” Custer muttered.

  Hunt continued, undeterred by the comment. “Spain, on the other hand, has a handful of what are now being categorized as battleships and cruisers. Their navy might be laughably small when compared with Great Britain’s or even France’s, but it could easily overwhelm ours.”

  Custer glared at him. “Then we will build a navy, just as we are building an army.”

  Hunt glared back, “And that is much easier said than done, sir. Starting from scratch, it will take possibly two years to build a good-sized warship of, say, eight thousand tons, and another year to get her crew trained. And obviously, we must have a number of these to fight Spain. We have the ability to create a fleet, just not the time.”

  Robert Lincoln laughed harshly. “If we’re not careful, Spain and the United States will be likened to two chained dogs who cannot quite reach each other because of the lengths of their chains. Instead, they just sit there
barking and growling at each other in impotent fury. Instead of this war serving to create an American empire, or fully reunite the North and South, or even freeing the slaves in Cuba, we could become the laughingstock of the world.”

  Custer stood and began to pace. Uniting the North and South was a secondary consideration and freeing Spain’s slaves was not even on his agenda. He wanted the glory that would come from being victorious over Spain. He wanted to take that giant step in creating an American empire. He wanted to cement his place in history as a great president.

  “That cannot happen,” he snapped. “We must get our men to Cuba. My goal is to have an army at the gates of Havana within a month. I think we can hire or commandeer enough civilian transports to send a good-sized army to Cuba before the Spanish fleet can gather in strength.”

  “I do have a few suggestions,” said Hunt.

  “Let’s hear them,” snarled Custer.

  “First, regardless of what other steps we might decide, we must begin building proper and modern warships, even though it will take time and money.”

  “Agreed,” said Custer.

  “Second, we must arm merchant ships, just like we did during the Civil War. These ships must be listed as regular navy ships and not privateers which are, of course, illegal according to international treaty. While these ships would not be able to take on large regular warships, they should be able to blockade Cuba and Puerto as well as interdicting Spanish commerce. They should also be able to defend themselves against smaller Spanish warships.”

  Custer rubbed his hands together. “Excellent.”

  Hunt smiled, “And finally, sir. If we cannot build a navy, may I suggest that we rent one?” * * *

  Brevet Colonel Martin Ryder arrived unannounced at the encampment of the First Maryland Volunteers. An astonished sentry did nothing more than salute him and let him pass.

  It was before reveille and no one was stirring, at least not anyone he could see. He noted approvingly that the camp was well laid out and well kept. The tents were all in straight lines. There was no trash or debris in sight. And there was no stench from improperly dug latrines. He quickly found the commander’s tent and entered. Inside were an old folding cot and a desk. Even though he was tired, the cot did not look inviting. What the hell, he thought, he’d slept on the ground often enough. He’d get used to the cot. He decided he’d been corrupted by sleeping in a real bed for the last few months at West Pointe.

  He lit the oil lamp and began reading some of the correspondence on Colonel Fowler’s desk. Most of it was old, so he assumed that other officers were taking care of pressing matters.

  There was a knock and a clearly flustered young major entered and saluted. “Sir, I’m Major Jack Barnes and I apologize for not being here to greet you.”

  Ryder stood, returned the salute and shook the major’s hand. “Don’t worry about it, major. If I’d wanted a ceremony I would have told you in advance that I was coming. I assume that sentry did his duty and reported upwards.”

  “He did sir. Now, what can I do to assist you?”

  “First, major, you can get us some coffee and then you can sit down and we can talk.”

  Mugs of coffee arrived almost as quickly as they had at General Sheridan’s office. It was hot, dark, and thick. “Excellent,” Ryder said after a swallow. “Now, after reveille I want all officers assembled. I’m sure they’ve got some concerns and questions and I’m going to answer them to the best of my ability. To set yours and everyone else’s mind at rest, I have no plans to change command assignments or demote anyone. Everyone will stay as is until proven incompetent or we need them elsewhere. And that includes you, major; even though I’ve noticed that your military experience is somewhat less than negligible. Has Sergeant-Major Haney arrived yet?”

  “He came yesterday and informed us that you were on the way. He just didn’t know the details as to when.”

  “Good. Now let me be blunt. Haney knows more about the army than all of you in the regiment put together. I strongly, strongly, urge you to take solemn heed of anything he suggests. He may not be an officer, but, trust me, I will back him fully.”

  Barnes grinned. “I already came to that conclusion.”

  Bugles sounded and men stirred. Word that their new commanding officer had arrived was spreading quickly.

  “Barnes, we are going to train hard and fast. This regiment is going to Cuba a lot sooner than anticipated. We might have only a month before we depart.”

  “Jesus. Can we be ready in that short a time?”

  “I don’t think we have a choice.”

  * * *

  James Kendrick presented himself to the White House usher and was told to wait in the first floor Green Room. A few moments later, Libbie Custer arrived. She was dressed in a blue silk gown and smiled radiantly. The dress was cut to show her shoulders and a significant amount of her exquisite bosom. Kendrick could easily see how the very lovely Mrs. Custer could melt anyone. What really struck him was the wit and intelligence behind her eyes. She would be a helluva woman to conquer; he thought and then wondered just how her husband had managed that task. Perhaps there was more to the president then he thought. Or maybe she had conquered him. After all, it was widely rumored that she was the power behind the throne. Women could neither vote nor hold office, but Libbie Custer was clearly in charge of the President of the United States.

  They sat in facing chairs and sized each other up. Finally, she spoke. “Are you satisfied with what you see, Mr. Kendrick? Or have I changed so much in the last few years?”

  The last time he’d laid eyes on her, she was taking her wounded husband away from the Dakotas down the Missouri on a flat-bottomed steamer. She’d been anguished but firm. Her husband would survive his wounds and the reports of the battle would paint him as an American hero. Any attempts on Kendrick’s part to tell a different version of the story would be quashed, and, for the most part, they had been.

  “I wouldn’t be lying if I said you have become even lovelier, Mrs. Custer.”

  “You’re too kind to be a reporter. Now, why did you ask to see my husband?”

  “Madam, we are either fighting or not fighting a very curious war. Despite a declaration of war, there has been little fighting and even the telegraph lines between Cuba, Spain, and the United States are still operational.”

  “And they are likely to stay that way. It serves everyone’s purposes to keep lines of communication open. It is also possible that some in Spain and Cuba are so technologically backward that they are unaware of the potential of the telegraph.”

  Kendrick wondered if President Custer would have thought that way. “I thought you should know that I received an invitation from the Cuban General Gilberto Salazar to be his guest in Havana so I can report accurately on events in Cuba.”

  Libbie looked momentarily astonished, but recovered quickly. “Isn’t Salazar the filthy little man who massacred the Americans on the Eldorado? Yes, of course he is. Do you want to go and why are you, in effect, asking our permission? You journalists seem to go and do as you wish.”

  “I do want to go. It could be a wonderful story. I might also be able to maintain very personal lines of communication between our countries.”

  “While getting rich and famous in the process?”

  Kendrick grinned. “Of course, and I would not like to be painted as a traitor for my efforts in writing an unbiased report.”

  Libbie stood and Kendrick did as well. She was a little taller than he recalled. She exuded a hint of some perfume and he was acutely aware that the President’s wife was as sensuous a woman as he’d ever met.

  “Mr. Kendrick, both my husband and I are of the opinion that the coming war will be short and will result in a great victory both for us and for the country. It has been years since the Civil War ended and it is time for a major reconciliation between the North and the South. A victorious war against a common foe will go a long ways towards accomplishing that goal.”

  Ken
drick agreed with that, but with one caveat that he kept to himself. The Spanish had had their own civil wars, the last ending with Alfonso XII becoming king. The Spanish needed a unifying war against a foreign enemy as much as the United States did, perhaps even more.

  He also wondered if members of his own government wanted war so badly that they would have betrayed the men on the ill-fated Eldorado to the Spanish, thus precipitating the crisis. No, he thought, no one could be that duplicitous. Of course, perhaps no one had intended it to go that far. From what he’d seen of the government’s reaction, the shock of the massacre had been very real.

  “May I ask a favor from you, Mr. Kendrick? First, I would like your promise that you will give us any information that might help our nation before you submit it for publication. That will be at your discretion, of course. I don’t want you to either get fired or killed.”

  “Agreed, Mrs. Custer, although I’m not totally certain how I’d work that out.”

  Libbie smiled radiantly. “Excellent and I’m sure you’ll think of something. Now let’s have some sandwiches. I’m famished.”

  She took his arm and steered him to a table where a servant dashed in with some small sandwiches. He was acutely aware of the light feel of her breast against him. Jesus, he thought, she really is something.

  When they were again seated, she smiled warmly. “Now I would like a favor from you.”

  “Just ask.”

  “Since we’re going to be such good friends, please call me Libbie.”

  * * *

  Waves of blue uniformed soldiers moved up the low hill while other soldiers awkwardly tried to maneuver a pair of brass twelve pound cannon commonly known as Napoleons, and another pair of Gatling guns into position. This was the first time he’d had the entire regiment try a maneuver like this and it was apparent that they all had a lot to learn. The men were enthusiastic but untrained. Ryder had forbidden them to fix bayonets to their new to them 1873 Trapdoor Model Springfield rifles. There was a real fear that they would skewer themselves and that, as Haney said, would be bad for morale.