Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

What forced the decision was the fact that the Spanish navy was out there someplace. Nobody was certain whether their two battleships had left Havana or not. Nobody wanted Spanish wolves in among the helpless transports, and there was less than total confidence that the escorts could defeat the enemy before they inflicted severe casualties among the heavily laden transports. The U.S. Army would, therefore, land everything it had as quickly as it could and hope the rest of the ships showed up soon.

As the Aurora eased its way into the crowded bay and anchored, Janson took in the scene and smiled grimly. “We were damned lucky, you know. One shell in the right place and we would have had a hold full of dead and wounded.”

Ryder agreed. How could he not? The one Spanish shell that had penetrated the Aurora had injured four soldiers but only one of them seriously. Most of the screaming and hollering had come from men who were shut up in a dark and nearly airless hold. They’d panicked and been scared out of their wits.

Janson continued. “Just like the Spanish gunboat, we’re a wooden ship and a fire could have started that would have killed a lot of people. I made a comment about surrendering and being taken to Havana, but it later occurred to me that the Spaniards might have thought it expedient to sink the ship. In that case, almost all of us would have drowned.”

Ryder hadn’t thought of it that way. “Obviously you’re telling me we didn’t have enough lifeboats.”

“Who does? Even ships carrying a large number of passengers don’t have anywhere near enough lifeboats, and until just recently, the Aurora didn’t carry passengers. The Aurora has enough for her crew and that’s all. No matter what I would have tried, most of your men would have drowned.”

With most of his men disembarked and the ship in a safe anchorage, Ryder had himself rowed to shore. It took a while to find anything resembling a headquarters, but he finally located General Terry who, as usual, looked overwhelmed and distraught.

“About time you got here, colonel, although I should first congratulate you on destroying that Spanish ship. Excellent job. Lord only knows how many of our men you saved. You and Captain Janson will get medals and commendations. The word’s going around the beach and people think you’re a hero again.”

“I was just trying to stay alive, sir.”

“And that’s excellent motivation, colonel. Now here’s what I want you to do. Despite the fact that only one of your battalions has been landed, I want you to proceed as quickly as you can and seize Mount Haney.”

“Mount what?”

“Yes, Ryder, your beloved Sergeant Major Haney returned a few hours ago with a detachment of Cuban rebels who can help us, and a reporter named Kendrick who will likely be a royal pain in the ass. Haney said that the little hill he named for himself dominates the area and should be occupied as soon as possible. He thinks and I agree that if the Spanish occupy it in strength, we will have to attack and force them off, and that will cost many casualties. Much better if we make them do the attacking.”

“Where’s Haney now?”

“With your men and hopefully getting them organized.”

Ryder found Haney and four companies of confused infantry waiting orders. Haney had already told them to fill their canteens with water and their pouches with ammunition. Ryder guessed it to be a couple of miles to the hill and, although it didn’t look like a difficult climb, he knew better.

By the time they reached the base of the hill, they were drenched with sweat and gasping for breath. The oppressive Cuban heat had quickly sapped their energy. He was about to call a halt when one of the Cuban rebels came and said that a Spanish force was approaching the other side of the hill.

Shit, Ryder thought. “Everybody up and move out. Last one to the top of the hill gets busted to private.”

“What if you’re already a private?” someone yelled.

Ryder laughed despite his discomfort. “Master Sergeant Haney will think of something, won’t you?”

“Damn right, sir. Now get off your asses and up that fucking hill!”

It was steeper than it looked and far more humid than it had been on the beach. Even Ryder was exhausted and there were far too many contenders for last man for Haney to count even if he had wanted to. By the time they reached the crest and were able to start downhill, a number of soldiers were gasping and actually crawling on their hands and knees. All were filthy and covered with mud and bugs.

“Ration the water,” Ryder ordered, even though he knew it was futile. Men were already swallowing heavily from the little bit they had in their canteens.

Ryder looked for the military crest, the point beneath the actual crest and the most effective spot to place their defenses. He was about to order a patrol farther downhill when shots rang out. Puffs of smoke showed from trees only a little more than a hundred yards away. Brief flashes of white Spanish uniforms could be seen through the foliage. Without orders, his men dropped to the ground and returned fire. More Spaniards could be seen joining the first group and he realized that they’d made the top first by only a few moments.

Someone screamed. One of his soldiers had been hit. Haney dropped down beside Ryder. “I don’t think there’s all that many of them, sir. I think if we rush them all shooting and screaming they’ll run away. At any rate, clearing the hill’s a lot better than sitting here and shooting at each other.”

“Agreed,” said Ryder. He sent runners to the company commanders and impatiently bided his time until he got word that everyone understood.

Now came the truly dangerous part, he thought. “What the hell,” he said to no one in particular. He stood and blew hard on a whistle. Responses came from either side of him and he could sense rather than see several hundred soldiers emerging and moving forward.

Ryder drew his pistol and waved it, “Faster, men, faster! And yell, damn it!”

Four hundred men screeched and hollered and ran towards the Spanish, shooting as they went. The Spanish returned fire raggedly and a couple of his men fell. In seconds, though, they were in the Spanish position. There were indeed not that many of them and they were retreating as quickly as they could from the insane Yankees. One turned and fired his rifle. The shot seemed to whistle just above Ryder’s head. Ryder paused, steadied his shaking arm and emptied his revolver at the man who grabbed his head and fell backwards.

It was over. Haney reported one dead and three wounded among the American force. Ryder swallowed. These were the first casualties the First Maryland Volunteers had suffered in combat. They wouldn’t be the last.

Ryder walked to the man he’d shot. One bullet had entered the man’s left eye and another had plowed through his chest. Either could have killed the Spaniard, not that it mattered. Ryder thought the man looked about thirty and wondered if he had a family. He ordered himself to stop thinking like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d caused men to die and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

A corporal came up and said that a larger enemy force was approaching the hill but appeared to have stopped well out of range. Ryder took his binoculars and found the enemy. It looked like at least a battalion of Spaniards and, yes, they were pausing. It didn’t look like they were in any great hurry to take their turn storming Mount Haney.

Ryder gave orders to form a perimeter and dig in as best they could. The men needed no urging and a rough barricade and shallow trench quickly appeared.

A short while later, Major Barnes arrived. He was leading a column of huffing infantry. “I got the second battalion and the third is getting organized. They’ll be along shortly.”