Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

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.”