Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

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.

Acting Major Jack Barnes smiled and dramatically swept his arm over the crowded harbor. They were on the ramparts of historic but obsolete Fort McHenry. Below them was a horde of ships of all shapes and sizes. He pointed at three in particular. “There, colonel, are the three ships that are going to take the regiment to Cuba.”

Ryder shook his head sadly. “Please don’t tell me their names are the Nina, Pinta , and Santa Maria .

Barnes laughed nervously. “They’re old, sir, but not that old.”

Ryder reluctantly agreed. The ships assigned to the First Maryland looked like old tubs with rust and dirt streaks on their hulls. But he’d been assured that they were seaworthy and had steam engines, although two of them were paddlewheelers. They’d been chartered by the navy and he presumed that the navy knew what it was doing. Each ship would carry one battalion of infantry along with as much supplies as could be stuffed in her hold. After the men were loaded, food and ammunition were the highest priority. No, he corrected himself, the only priority. And water, he added.

The waters around Fort McHenry were filled with steamships of all sizes. Barnes said he’d actually counted over two hundred before giving up. He added that additional ships continued to arrive. U.S. Navy warships were further down towards the mouth of the Chesapeake and would escort the ragtag armada to Cuba when the time came. These consisted of the recently re-named cruiser Atlanta and a number of armed sloops and converted merchantmen. The Atlanta had been the HMS Shannon . It was felt that her 10 inch guns were powerful enough to handle anything the Spanish had, including her two battleships. Ryder again hoped that the navy knew what it was doing.