Read 1882: Custer in Chains Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
1882: Custer in Chains (28 page)
Lieutenant General Philip Sheridan accompanied him. It was not lost on the attendees that Hancock looked far more fit and trim and healthy than Sheridan, who was seven years his junior.
“Don’t we have any young generals?” sneered Blaine.
“No we don’t,” Sheridan said blandly, “and therein lies the curse of the peacetime army—and navy I might add. During war, merit and survival are rewarded and cream rises to the top. In peacetime, rank freezes, even fossilizes. Just about every general we currently have in the Army achieved that rank during the Civil War, and that tragic event ended more than sixteen years ago.”
“And as I can still talk and walk, I decline to be referred to as a fossil,” answered a smiling Hancock. He was in a confident and ebullient mood. He was about to be honored and vindicated by his political enemies. “I may be many years older than Nelson Miles, but in many ways I am very much younger than he.”
Even Blaine had to agree with that assessment. “Have you come to be America’s savior, Mister Hancock?”
Hancock refused to be insulted by Blaine’s not referring to him as “General.” Even though he was a civilian, he was entitled to the courtesy. “I don’t think America needs a savior, sir, but the war in Cuba certainly does.”
Vice President Arthur decided it was time to end the pettiness. Blaine was beginning to annoy him. “Agreed. Now, General Hancock, what can you bring to the table?”
Hancock took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I led men in battle, but I am confident I can rally the troops and conclude the war with an American victory.”
Even Blaine had to nod agreement. Few could not recall Hancock’s taking control of the Union lines at the Battle of Gettysburg and stabilizing them before he was terribly wounded. That wound still troubled him and on occasion caused him great pain. There were those who thought that it had been Hancock and not Meade who had won that climactic battle.
“What do you need for victory?” Arthur asked in a soft voice.
“I need rank sufficient to the task. Reinstate me, but as a lieutenant general. That will make me second to General Sheridan but above anyone in command in Cuba, which will eliminate conflicts.”
“Agreed,” said Arthur and the others nodded.
“General Miles is correct. We need more men. There are two more divisions in training and I want them immediately. General Gordon’s division and General Chamberlain’s must be on the move to Cuba as soon as humanly possible.”
There was silence but no disagreement. John Gordon’s men were all Southerners, and there had been resistance to having former Confederates fighting as a unit. But Hancock was popular in the South. He’d been fairly lenient to Southerners during the Reconstruction period. His detractors had said he had been too lenient on the former and largely unrepentant rebels. No matter, he would have Gordon’s Division.
Joshua Chamberlain’s division of volunteers primarily came from Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. In an exquisite irony, it had been Brevet Major General Chamberlain who had been tasked with receiving the surrender of Robert E. Lee’s troops at Appomattox. The Confederate general tasked with surrendering the Army of Northern Virginia had been John Gordon. Chamberlain had won Gordon’s and the rest of the Confederates’ respect by ordering his men to salute the rebels as they marched past and laid down their arms. After the war, Gordon had become very controversial. Even though he denied it, rumors said he had been in charge of the Ku Klux Klan.
On the other hand, John Gordon had been elected to the U.S. Senate.
“I understand that Joshua Chamberlain’s in poor health,” said Arthur.
Sheridan chuckled. “You tell him. The man’s insistent. He feels that serving as a general in the Civil War, being awarded the Medal of Honor and later becoming governor of Maine, and still later president of Bowdoin College entitle him to consideration, and I agree.”
Between Gordon and Chamberlain, they could bring another fifteen to twenty thousand men to the battle. Would they be enough to win? That would be up to Lieutenant General Hancock.
“We are in agreement?” asked Sheridan and all said yes.
Even Blaine seemed pleased. “Well, General Hancock, how soon will your men commence arriving at Matanzas?”
Hancock smiled widely, “Events will transpire very soon, gentlemen.”
Phil Sheridan turned away and smiled. He and Hancock had discussed strategy for the coming campaign. No reinforcements would be landing at Matanzas. For the time being, Nelson Miles, with help from the Navy, would be on his own in defending his two perimeters at that dismal Cuban port.
* * *
“I think I’ve done this before,” sighed Wally Janson as he looked over the gathering host of ships anchored off Charleston, South Carolina, “Although maybe it was in another and more pleasant life.”
The transports were all shapes and sizes and of varying speeds. Someone had the bright idea of breaking them into two groups—the slower ships in one and the faster in another, since a convoy would be held to the speed of its slowest member. A rough estimate had more than two hundred vessels clustered off Charleston. In a very short while they would commence loading two divisions of infantry and all their supplies.
Lieutenant Junior Grade Paul Prentice smiled tolerantly. He’d heard the comments several times in the last couple of days. Along with the other survivors from the ill-fated
Aurora
, he and Janson had been exchanged for an equivalent number of Spanish prisoners. Treated as heroes for their role in sinking the Spanish battleship
Vitoria
, the U.S. Navy had offered the older Janson command of a newly commissioned gunboat, which he promptly named the
Orion
. He didn’t ask if the Navy already had plans for the name. As a sailor, he had a deep affection for the constellations. The two men had been awarded the Medal of Honor for sinking the Spanish battleship.
The
Orion
displaced about twelve hundred tons and was armed with a pair of six-inch guns, along with a handful of nine- and twelve-pound cannons. Armor plating had been attached to her sides and around her bridge, which affected her speed and maneuverability. She was a deadly force even though no one would ever call her an ironclad. With luck, the light armor would deflect bullets or shrapnel and small cannon shells, but would be useless against the shells from bigger weapons. The
Orion
would choose her fights carefully. Spain might have lost her two battleships, but her remaining cruisers would be more than a match for Janson’s ship.
Janson was her skipper, while Prentice was on board as a supernumerary. The leg he’d broken when captured hadn’t completely healed and he was on crutches. He would not be able to return to active duty until he was fully well. In the meantime, Janson needed assistance to function as a real naval officer. Janson’s commission would last for the duration of the war and it was presumed that the
Orion
would be signed over to his ownership as partial compensation for the loss of the
Aurora
.
The
Orion
was one of two score similar ships that had been hastily pressed into service in the rapidly expanding navy. All had been converted from merchantmen. Small and lethal, they would protect the gathering armada from the few remaining Spanish warships if they should venture out from where they were hiding. The Navy was building a number of real armored cruisers that would be substantially better than the powerful
Atlanta
, which was patrolling off Charleston and no longer on duty at Havana. The new ships would not be ready for a year of two. The newspapers had called the situation a shame and heaped more blame on President Custer. Both Prentice and Janson were inclined to agree with the assessment, as was most of the population of the United States.
“The first time I left on a mission like this, it was from Baltimore,” Janson mused out loud. “At least we’re a few hundred miles closer to Cuba than we were that first time, which will make it easier on all the troops who’ll be jammed in the holds of all those ships. Did I ever tell you how we were attacked by a Spanish gunboat and how that young Colonel Ryder figured out how to sink it? I like to think that fight was part of why he got promoted to general.”
“Only about a hundred times,” Prentice said tolerantly. “This Ryder must be a hell of a general. Not all generals and admirals are willing to fight. A lot of them simply want to make speeches and look good in their uniforms.”
“Lieutenant, you are wise beyond your years.”
“Skipper, have you learned our final destination?”
Janson’s eyes widened in surprise, “Are you telling me it’s not Matanzas?”
“All I’m saying is that I keep hearing rumors. I also understand that the Army is going to undergo a major reorganization now that Hancock’s in charge. I keep hearing that someone named Couch is going to be named to an important position. The name’s familiar, but I don’t know why.”
Janson yawned. It was good to have someone he could talk to without having to worry about little things like rank. “Paul, I’m sure they’ll tell us when they decide it’s important enough. For your information, Darius Couch was a Union general, but I don’t recall all that much about him. Wait, I do recall one thing. He likes to pronounce his name Coach instead of Couch. I guess he doesn’t want to be compared to a piece of furniture.”
* * *
Darius N. Couch, recently returned to the army as a major general in command of the newly designated Second Corps, was looking for redemption. He was sixty years old and every day he recalled how he had failed his country at the battle of Chancellorsville in the spring of 1863. In his mind he had let the very real chance of defeating or even destroying Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia slip through his normally very capable hands. Had he acted decisively, how many lives could have been saved, how many thousands of families would not still be in mourning? He could only wonder and mourn for himself and the faceless others.
Unlike the more powerfully built Hancock, Couch was small and slight and subject to bouts of ill health. Couch had also been decorated for gallantry in the Mexican War, at the battle of Buena Vista.
“I won’t let you down,” he said solemnly.
Hancock nodded. “I know.”
“Not like Chancellorsville.”
Hancock understood the man’s frustration. At Chancellorsville, the terribly overmatched Joe Hooker had been the victim of a surprise attack by Lee. The much larger Union Army had been pushed back into a defensive perimeter. Still, they were in good shape until Hooker had been wounded, struck on the head by falling debris. As he was taken to the rear, Hooker ordered Couch, his second in command, to retreat. There were vehement arguments both for and against obeying that order. Couch felt that Lee had done all he could and was ripe for a counterattack. Hooker, concussed and confused, insisted on ordering a retreat and was taken away by ambulance, leaving Couch in temporary command of the massive Army of the Potomac.
“I obeyed the orders of an injured and confused man who, quite likely, wasn’t right in the head. I should have seized control and fought Lee. We could have whipped him. We could have shortened the war, maybe even ended it. It sickens me every time I think of it.”
Hancock smiled. Couch had obeyed orders and that had absolved him from any blame for the defeat at Chancellorsville. However, Couch was right. Sometimes orders are meant to be ignored. “Well, now you get to fight Weyler, and I want you to fight him all the way to Havana.”
Couch could not bring himself to smile in return. “Neither I nor the Second Corps will let you down, General Hancock.” Then he did smile briefly. “Of course I do not envy you having to work with General Miles. If he were in my command, I would likely have to kill him.”
Hancock laughed. He was pleased with his decision to bring Couch back to the colors. Although another of what James G. Blaine annoyingly referred to as an older general, it was clear that Couch was full of fight and wanted to purge himself of history. He would command the newly created Second Corps, which consisted of Gordon’s and Chamberlain’s divisions. The two subordinate generals had met a few days earlier and politely recalled previous incidents including the surrender at Appomattox. Although they would never be close friends, both Couch and Hancock were convinced that they would both cooperate and obey. Second Corps was in good hands and would operate independently of First Corps.
That left First Corps, which, until it was just recently designated, was the entire American army in Cuba. First Corps was in Nelson Miles’ hands and would remain so. Hancock would be with Miles and oversee the touchy and vain little man’s actions. Miles would not be happy, but that was none of Hancock’s concern. First Corps consisted of three divisions—Benteen’s, Gibbon’s, and Crook’s. Altogether, the two army corps totaled nearly forty thousand men. It was the largest American army to take the field since the Civil War. If it was defeated, the whole idea of a war against Spain would result in nothing more than a bloody humiliation for the United States.
Therefore, Hancock thought as he left the conference with Couch, I will not be defeated.
Therefore again, he concluded, I must get to Matanzas as soon as possible. He would travel on the steam sloop
Enterprise
, while Couch would have his temporary headquarters on the
Atlanta
.
◆
Chapter 16
◆
M
ajor General Benteen made himself as comfortable as possible in Ryder’s bunker. He had just finished a circuit of the new lines of defenses on and around Mount Haney. These now included extensive trench lines for the rest of his division and not only Ryder’s brigade. The defenses ran from the waterfront on both sides of the hill and around it. They were several lines deep and Benteen was pleased.
“No fortress is ever impregnable, Martin, but you’ve done a great job. Of course, you had me alongside to help you,” he added with a grin.
Ryder shook his head and ignored the good-natured jibe. “We only lack two things, General, food and water. There are enough of us to hold off the Spaniards and we have enough ammunition to fight a number of battles, but we might just die of starvation or thirst while carrying loaded weapons.”
The crushing Spanish attack on the city of Matanzas had resulted in the loss of much of their supplies. As the men retreated to Haney and the entrance to the bay, they’d carried with them as much ammunition as possible. This meant leaving stockpiles of food for the Spanish to plunder. Nor was their water situation much better. The men around Haney now numbered more than eight thousand and, while water was available, it came in a literal trickle from the wells already dug. These had been adequate for Ryder’s brigade, but not for an entire division and a number of refugees. The Spanish, sensing the situation, had attempted to divert the few streams that ran close to the American lines. They’d only partly succeeded, but it did mean an inadequate supply for cooking and sanitation.
The two generals were alone. This was a conversation, not a conference. “How’s Miles taking his demotion?” asked Ryder.
“Outwardly, he appears to be controlling his anger. Inwardly, I think he’s relieved. Commanding an independent army this size was too much for him. When Hancock and the Second Corps arrive, he’ll still have an important role to play, but he won’t be responsible for the major decisions. Miles is a brave man and a good fighter, but he was put in water too deep for him and that was Custer’s fault. He should have chosen the best man under any circumstances, not the best from a small pool of choices that he alone created. He should have left politics out of it.”
“What president could have done that?” Ryder grumbled.
“No one that I know of,” Benteen admitted with a smile.
Several cannons boomed from the American positions. The taking of Matanzas had not presented the Spanish with the complete victory they’d wanted. Cannons from Mount Haney and from the mouth of the bay covered most of the distance between the two points, which kept the Spanish from fortifying what they’d taken. Word had come that, after recovering the dead and wounded under yet another flag of truce, the Spanish had apologized for bombarding the hospital. They claimed that they’d been told that the church had been fortified. The apology had been accepted even though no one believed it. The Red Cross symbol had been prominently displayed on all sides of the building.
Benteen continued. “I also like the way you’ve established tracks and trails so you can move your big guns and your Gatlings quickly. You mass those things against a Spanish attack and the greasers won’t like it.”
Ryder wanted to light a cigar, but he only had a couple left and didn’t feel like sharing them with Benteen. “The Spanish don’t like being called greasers.”
“Who cares what the Spanish think?”
“One more question. When Hancock arrives with an additional fifteen thousand or so men, where the hell are we supposed to put them?”
Benteen sighed, “Beats the hell out of me, Martin. Now be a good boy and give me one of those cigars you’re hiding, because I’m not leaving until I get one.”
* * *
Hector Rojas was a big man in many ways. Physically huge, he was an important part of Mercedes de Milan’s household. In many ways he was its leader, and not just because he occasionally shared his mistress’s bed. He was far smarter than his brutish looks, which sometimes fooled people, often to their permanent loss.
Nor was Hector the jealous type. He knew his place. He fully accepted that Mercedes’ current number-one lover was the British diplomat, Redford Dunfield. This slightly surprised him because Dunfield seemed to be more than a little effeminate. Perhaps he had hidden skills or more subtle ways of satisfying Mercedes, he thought with a smile. No matter. Mercedes de Milan was approaching old age with ill grace and fear and this had made her sexually insatiable. She was deathly afraid that no one would want her when her looks faded. When Dunfield or a predecessor was not available to serve her, Rojas was. She also tipped well after each session and, as a result, he’d accumulated a significant amount of money.
One of his duties was to ensure that all was safe and secure in the de Milan compound. Hector knew that the two lovers who occupied the cottage were in danger from the skinny woman’s husband, Gilberto Salazar. On occasion Rojas had walked by the cottage and seen them naked through a window. Juana Salazar did not arouse him although he conceded that she would do in a pinch. She was just too thin for his tastes.
Regardless, she and her American lover were Mercedes’ guests and were to be protected. Hector liked to wander the compound at odd times just to see what might be afoot. By staggering his patrols, he hoped to confuse anyone who might want to break in and harm the lovers. It also kept his other guards on their toes.
This night was cloudy and there were few shadows. In a couple of hours, false dawn would rise. He was reacting to information from an informer in Salazar’s legion that there would be an attempt on the lives of the two guests. The darkness smelled of danger and that excited him. He moved around the compound’s perimeter with surprising grace and silence. He liked to think of himself as a large predator cat like the pictures of lions and leopards he’d seen in books in Mercedes’ extensive library.
Hearing something, he paused. The compound was close enough to the city to pick up numerous background noises. There was a pattern to these sounds, even when punctuated by the odd shout or scream, or the occasional gunshot. What he was listening for was the sound of footfalls, or bushes and leaves being brushed against by something that shouldn’t be there. He knew enough to identify and ignore the sounds of dogs or cats or even rodents. They did not concern him.
He heard something once more and froze. He heard it again and decided it wasn’t an animal, at least not a four-legged one. He moved stealthily towards the sound, keeping it between him and the cottage. As he generally did, he had a large hammer in his hand and he handled it like a twig. One side was flat for pounding, while the other was wedge-shaped and good for crushing. He had a knife and a pistol in his belt, but his usual weapon of choice was the hammer. A gun made too much noise, and a knife was messy and often did not kill or even disable immediately. Even slicing a man’s throat did not necessarily bring immediate death. The victim could flop and make noises for some time and be bleeding all over the place.
However, even a glancing blow from the hammer would shatter bones and cause shock, while a direct blow was usually fatal, at least when he swung it with blinding speed.
Rojas smelled blood. He moved cautiously and found the body of one of his guards. He swore softly. The boy had only been fifteen and now he was dead. He had volunteered to be a guard to prove his manhood and earn a little extra money and now he was dead. His head had been bashed in and his throat had been skillfully sliced open.
Rojas smiled tightly and moved closer to the lovers’ cottage. The two men he’d sensed and now could see were concentrating on their approach to the cottage and paying no attention to what was happening behind them. Fools, he thought. As he stalked them he noted that each had a revolver in his waistband. Dangerous fools, he amended. He could call the alarm and others would come to his aid, but that would take a few precious minutes during which he could be shot. No, he would solve this himself and there would be no gunfire.
The two intruders were so preoccupied that he got within a few feet of them before he launched his bulk at them with fearful speed. He struck the first with the hammer and the man’s skull shattered with a sickening sound, like a melon dropping on cement. He whirled and struck at the second man who was only beginning to turn with a look of puzzlement on his face. The hammer struck him between the eyes, killing him instantly.
Rojas breathed deeply and looked around. He had disturbed no one. He threw the bodies over his shoulder, walked to the stable and dumped them into a cart. After covering the corpses with a blanket and some straw he walked to the main house and entered through the servant’s entrance. He was pleased to see that the Englishman was not present. That made things so much simpler.
He entered Mercedes’ bedroom and awakened her. She was used to the touch of his hand and did not startle. As usual, she had been sleeping naked and made no effort to more fully cover what he had seen so many times before. Nor was she shocked by what he told her. An attack on the lovers had been expected.
“What will you do with the bodies?”
“At dawn, when the curfew is over, I will take them a few miles out of town and dump them in a field. It will be a while before anyone notices them, if ever, and by then they will be unrecognizable. Not even their mothers will know them.”
Mercedes shuddered at the thought of the intruders being eaten by birds and animals and insects and bloated by the sun, but it had to be done. Other things had to be done as well. She could not allow Gilberto Salazar or his men to enter her property and murder people. He had crossed a line.
She handed him a corner of the light blanket that only partly covered her. He grinned and gently pulled it off her. Her beauty might be fading, but she was still highly desirable.
She smiled and held out her hand. He grasped it and she pulled him down to her. She had never had sex with a man who had just killed on her behalf and it thoroughly excited her. “You have done so very well, Hector Rojas, that I think you deserve a very great reward.”
* * *
Jesus, thought Kendrick. He was too stunned to return to bed where Juana slept peacefully. He hadn’t been able to sleep and had gone to a window simply to look around. Even though he loved Juana and loved being with her, he was getting bored and needed to get near where the story and the action were. Thus, he’d seen the two men approaching. He’d been about to awaken Juana and make a run for the main house when a massive bulk had surged over the intruders like a wave, knocking them down with wickedly fast swings of a hammer. He recognized Rojas by his size. He’d seen the man around many times. Kendrick had kept on cordial terms with him and was now very thankful he had.
Kendrick also understood what would happen to the bodies. They would disappear and never be found. He would have to find a way of thanking Rojas. He had a feeling that both Rojas and Mercedes would deny that anything like what he’d seen had ever happened and he was fine with that. Still, he had to let them know of his appreciation. Rojas had just saved his and Juana’s lives.
He walked softly back to bed, although he wondered if he would ever be able to get to sleep again. Next, he wondered if they should move to a more secure location. But to where, he wondered. If he could get the two of them back to the American lines, perhaps they’d be safe there. But maybe they’d be safe nowhere with Gilberto Salazar still in the picture. How could the man be so jealous of him when he’d thrown Juana at him? The man was mad, that was why. After hating and discarding Juana, he was now obsessed with no one else possessing her.
Perhaps they should move to the main house. There wouldn’t be as much privacy, but they would be safer. No, he had to find a better, safer place for them. He could not leave Havana until the war was over. The story of a lifetime, maybe several lifetimes, was unfolding before his eyes. Word had come that the relief force had sailed from Charleston and the people of the city of Havana were tense and confused. Either Cuba was going to be free of Spain or the United States was going to suffer an ignominious defeat. Either way, he would be in Havana.
* * *
Ruta looked at the fresh grave. The mound of raw earth was the final resting place of Nurse Ethel Carmody. Her shattered and nearly headless body had been recovered during a truce and quickly buried. She was the first of the volunteer nurses to die. With the exception of Nurse Atkins who had lost her arm, none of the others had even been wounded. Bumps, cuts and bruises, yes, but nothing serious had occurred to them.
“Doctor Desmond gave a wonderful eulogy for her, didn’t he?” commented Ruta. Desmond had moved from the head of the bay to Mount Haney. It was a clear indication that a major Spanish move was likely.
“Too bad so much of what he said wasn’t true,” said Sarah.
Ruta agreed. “I know. He said she was a marvelous nurse, which she wasn’t, and a gentle, loving human being who was cherished by everyone, which she also wasn’t. Too bad I couldn’t believe a word of what he said. Carmody was a wretched person.”
“Never speak ill of the dead,” said Sarah. “No matter how miserable they were in their lifetimes, they were always faithful husbands and wives, loving brothers and sisters, and devoted friends. Eulogies are never about the truth.”
Ruta laughed bitterly. “My father beat us with his fists and a cane he kept for that purpose, and his brother tried to rape me. I told my father about his brother and dear father said I must be lying. He beat me again for slandering his dear brother. I hope both of them are dead and burning in hell. That would be my eulogy.”
“I had an uncle who kept trying to run his hands up my dress,” said Sarah. “I told my father and he beat him up very badly. It slowed him down but didn’t stop him. I just learned to be more agile. He died a couple of years ago. Everyone cried and said what a saint he’d been in life. I felt like desecrating his grave. I was going to go to his grave at night and urinate on it. I couldn’t because I was afraid of cemeteries in the night.”