Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

“I am not a gladiator and this is not Rome,” Ryder said with a smile. However, if you like I will go up to General Custer and tell him that we who are about to die salute you.”

She playfully tapped him on the arm with her fan. “I keep forgetting you’re partly civilized.

The invitation to the White House had come as a surprise. The Custers had decided to invite just about anybody in congress and the government and all military personnel of significant rank to attend what was a grand going away party. As commander of a regiment Ryder qualified on the low end of the list of important people. He mentioned to Sarah that he thought it might be similar to the ball held by the British before they marched out to fight Napoleon at Waterloo. At least that battle ended well for the Brits, he thought. How would this coming campaign fare for the United States?

This was the first time inside the White House for either of them and each was dressed for the occasion. Sarah wore a gown of deep green that exposed her bare pink shoulders. The cut of the gown emphasized her trim figure and very slender waist. Ryder wore a dress blue uniform and, since he felt that many were staring at Sarah, thought that he was fairly inconspicuous. There were scores of colonels present and a fair number of generals, including Sheridan and Miles. His divisional commander, General Terry, looked exhausted and older than his actual late fifties and Ryder wondered if he was up to the coming task.

If there had been a receiving line to see the president, it had disintegrated into chaos. Thus, he was surprised when Libbie Custer stood smiling in front of them.

“It’s good to see you colonel. I believe the last time was somewhere near the Little Big Horn and I was thanking you for saving George’s life.”

Ryder remembered no such incident. He’d seen her at a distance before the wounded Custer was evacuated. He did not contradict her. He introduced Sarah to her and they chatted politely for a few seconds before Libbie wandered off.

“I can see why men fall in love with her,” Sarah said. “She is exquisitely lovely and has a splendid figure. That and she has a wry smile that is quite engaging. And to think she’s forty years old. Goodness,” she giggled, “am I ever being cattish and spiteful?”

“But did you notice her eyes? They were evaluating you, Sarah.”

“For what, I wonder?”

“Because I’m one of a diminishing number who know that Custer nearly destroyed the Seventh Cavalry and that it was not his brilliant idea that had me there with the machine guns. I think she wonders if you too are a potential threat to her husband.”

Sarah was about to respond when the subject of their discussion suddenly appeared before them. “Colonel Ryder,” Custer said genially. His eyes were red and his face was flushed. The president had been drinking. “I envy you and everyone who is going with you to Cuba. The old ladies in the government insist that that the United States cannot get along without my presence here in Washington. Utter nonsense if you ask me.”

Ryder introduced Custer to Sarah. The president bowed deeply and made an obvious attempt to look down the front of her dress. She flushed and smiled tightly. She thought about saying to Custer that there was more than a touch of gray in his once golden hair, but decided against it. She noted that Martin was grim and angry so she squeezed his arm tightly. He got the message and turned away. Punching the President of the United States in the mouth while in the White House was not a good career move even if the man was being a boor.

Custer reiterated his desire to join in the invasion of Cuba and wandered off. “Is he always like that?” she asked.

“Obnoxious and crude? Only when he’s awake. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in years and he never used to drink like I hear he does now. Perhaps power has changed him, or even frustrated him. It’s rumored that Libbie generally does a lot of his thinking for him. That’s probably only partly true. The man is impetuous and reckless, not stupid.”

She steered him outside where it was cooler. And safer for Martin’s career. It would not have done for Martin to have made a scene in front of several hundred of the most powerful people in the country.

“Would you like me to do your thinking for you, Martin?”

“No, and I don’t want to do yours, although I would definitely want your advice.”

“As I would yours. Now tell me why you never grew a beard like so many of those very important people have?”

He grinned at the memories. “First, I did try on several occasions, but the thing always came in scraggly. Frankly, I’m very glad that having a great bushy beard is going out of fashion. But why?”

She smiled sweetly. “Because I’m thinking of letting you kiss me tonight, and I’m glad your beard won’t scratch my face.”

“Then that makes two of us.”

Sarah was glad it was dark out so Martin couldn’t see her face suddenly turn red. She had just recalled what her good friend Ruth had said about men’s beards itching and scratching. When Sarah had mentioned the harsh feel of whiskers on her cheeks, Ruth had said, “Oh no, I’m talking about my thighs.”

* * *

The open carriage wound its way through the streets of Havana and out into the countryside. A trusted servant of Juana’s drove while she and Kendrick sat in comfort and talked quietly. Juana held a parasol which she used to try and shield both of them from both the sun and the prying and angry eyes of the Cuban people.

Kendrick was astonished at the large number of Spanish soldiers and sailors wandering around the town. Outside of Havana proper, hundreds of civilian workers were digging trenches and building up fortifications. Even though he considered himself a novice when it came to military matters, it was apparent that any attempt to storm Havana could result in a bloody catastrophe.

On the positive side, the soldiers and sailors he did see were, for the most part, slovenly and seemed disinterested in the possibility of the coming fighting. Of course, they might react differently when the shooting started and their lives were in danger.

Nor were the officers any better. Many of them appeared to be dandies and fops. Some were nothing more than boys. He decided that Spain had superiority in numbers, but not in the quality of her troops. He would send a coded message to that effect to Washington. Of course, even poor soldiers might fight well from behind the protection of a defensive wall or the security of a trench.

Juana read his mind. “What will you tell them?”

“As I said before, the truth is often useful. I still think it’s incredible that Spain hasn’t shut down the telegraph lines running from Havana to other countries and that includes the U.S. They appear oblivious to the fact that most of the Western Union workers are American. They seem to think that modern technology is irrelevant. Of course, if they do shut it down, they would have no way of communicating with Madrid. It’s an incredible dilemma for them.”

They continued on their ride and she showed him one of several large prison camps. “General Weyler has organized these atrocities. If he feels that the locals are not trustworthy or have harbored guerillas, he’s had entire villages uprooted and the people sent to these camps where they are poorly fed, inadequately housed and abused. People are dying by the hundreds and Spain doesn’t care. Spain should not be in charge of any country.”

A wooden stockade surrounded the camp. Inside were at least a thousand men, women, and children. All were jammed together tightly. Most had dark skins, but a number were lighter. All of them were dressed in rags and were filthy and thin to the point of emaciation. Many bore bruises and those that they could see through the walls of the stockade looked at Juana and Kendrick with eyes that were filled with hatred.