Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

There was no way on earth that her brother could lead a regiment. The War Department would have to do something about this tragic circumstance. Sarah and her brother thought President Custer was wrong in pushing for war, but they had confidence in Generals Sheridan and Sherman. Yes, those two would do the right thing for the First Maryland.

* * *

Captain Martin Ryder waited for the command that would send him in to see Lieutenant General Phil Sheridan. To Martin, Sheridan had been a true hero of the Civil War and was now the man rumored to be the heir apparent to the current commanding general, William Tecumseh Sherman.

Ryder had been ordered to report to the War Department and wondered what he might have done wrong. No explanation had accompanied the summons and that concerned him. The War Department was located at 17th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue NW, almost adjacent to the White House. Ryder could imagine a beleaguered President Custer looking out a window and wondering just what he’d gotten himself into with a war with Spain close to a reality.

Ryder was still young for a captain. He was only twenty-seven, although some said he looked older. His light brown hair was thinning and his clean-shaven face was weathered. At least he was still lean and wiry. A lady friend once said he had a nice smile if he’d only ever use it. She was right, he thought, but there was so little to smile about. His military career might have peaked even though there was war on the horizon. He was afraid that he might be assigned some backwater job while others got promotions. Of course, a backwater would be safe, but he hadn’t joined the army to be safe.

Since that momentous day on the Little Big Horn some six years earlier, he’d been stationed at a number of places in the Pacific Northwest and California. He’d spent two years rounding up drunken Indians who’d left their reservations, and another two stationed in a small post outside San Diego. There he had to deal with drunken and sometimes lethal Mexicans bandits who kept slipping across the border to rustle cattle and steal anything that wasn’t nailed down. The years had been dull with moments of sheer terror as life and death had sometimes been only a matter of inches apart. Sometimes luck determined who lived and who died. There had been a number of skirmishes with the Mexicans and he’d again seen men die bloodily and horribly. Ironically, since devastating the Indian attack on Custer, he’d never actually killed a man.

He recalled the long ago conversation he’d had with the journalist, James Kendrick. The man had been right. Custer and the army had wanted him out of the way. The future president could not be embarrassed by anyone contradicting the official version of the near massacre at the Little Big Horn.

He’d thought things had been turning around for him when he’d recently been assigned as an aide to the commandant at West Pointe. He’d even been permitted to give some lectures, although he never spoke about his experiences with Custer. Some thought it odd, while others put it down to modesty. He didn’t much care what other people thought. He was seriously thinking of resigning his commission and getting on with life as a civilian, but he wondered if his resignation would be accepted with war clouds darkening.

He also wondered if he wanted to resign at this moment. If war came, he felt duty and honor bound to use his skills to help his country and the army.

“You may go in, captain,” said a boyish lieutenant whose attitude told Ryder that he was not impressed by mere captains. Ryder felt like giving him a quick punch in the groin just to hear him squeal.

Ryder entered Sheridan’s office and saluted the short, stout man seated behind the desk. Lieutenant General Phil Sheridan, he noted, had gained a lot of weight. He was no longer the trim cavalryman who’d given the rebels fits. He was only in his early fifties and looked decades older. Ryder could not help but think that that if Sheridan represented the best of the army, the army was in trouble.

Sheridan waived him to a chair. He was breathing heavily. “You’ve had an interesting few years since saving Custer’s tail, haven’t you?”

Ryder flushed. Like many senior officers, Sheridan did not hold Custer in high esteem. “It hasn’t always been interesting, sir.”

Sheridan snorted, but did not appear angry at the comment. “Your superiors have always given you high grades and you have the respect of your peers. Rumor has it you might rise quite high if you’re not held back by that Custer debacle. Damndest things happen when you try to do your duty, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s right. The road to hell is sometimes paved with good intentions. But now there’s about to be a war and nobody’s going to remember that strange day on the Little Big Horn. Do you speak Spanish?”

“Pretty well, sir. Learning it was almost essential while I was stationed by the Mexican border.” He declined to mention that it had been a lovely young senorita who’d been his tutor and that much of his lessons involved a detailed study of her anatomy.

“You’re to be commended. Too many young officers would have pissed away their time drinking and screwing Mexican women. You didn’t do any of that, did you? Don’t answer. Do you want coffee?”

Before Ryder could respond, a mug of black stuff was in his hand, courtesy of the smirking young lieutenant. “Captain, we are going to have to rebuild the army if we’re going to fight Spain. We will need experienced officers who can be promoted to higher positions so they can command what is now little more than a rabble with sometimes ancient weapons and using even older tactics. That is if they’re lucky and they have any weapons at all. A need for a man of your talents just opened up. The colonel commanding the First Maryland Volunteers collapsed and nearly died while marching down Pennsylvania Avenue in the extreme heat. Even if he survives, he will not ever return to his regiment. To say that the rest of the officers in his regiment are inexperienced would be a gross understatement. They need a younger commander with combat experience and common sense. They need you, captain. Effective immediately, you are to take over the First Maryland with the brevet rank of colonel.”

“Sir, I’m at a loss.”

Sheridan smiled, “Don’t be. You deserve it; only just don’t make too big a mess of things.”

Ryder was almost giddy. He’d gone from captain to full colonel in less than five minutes. Granted it was only a temporary rank, but it might become a permanent opportunity if he didn’t screw up. At the very least, there was the possibility that his new permanent rank would be major when the war ended. Of course, their first had to be a war. It was considered probable, but the Spaniards might just act sensibly and negotiate a settlement. Would that change his thinking? Would he want to stay in the army?

Sheridan continued. “The regiment is here in Washington, so take over as soon as you can get your new rank sewn on your uniform. Also, I’m sure you remember Sergeant Haney. Well, he’s Master Sergeant Haney now and he’s just out of the hospital where he’d been recovering from a broken leg. He says he fell off his horse, but I think he fell out of some woman’s bed. He’ll be joining you and, between the two of you, you ought to be able to whip nearly a thousand volunteers into shape.”

The lieutenant knocked on the door and re-entered. “Sir, we’ve gotten a response from the Spaniards.”

Sheridan looked forward eagerly. “Well, out with it, damn it.”

“They reject all our demands and, in turn, demand that we send the man they say is the chief pirate, President Custer, to Madrid in chains.”

Sheridan’s jaw dropped and Ryder thought his did as well. The general recovered quickly and laughed hugely. “Custer in chains? My, my, what an intriguing possibility that is. I know a lot of people who’d pay money to see that picture.”