Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

“Just as well, Sergeant Major. I need you here with me.”

A few moments later, two of Lang’s men, one coming from each direction, returned to say that the battlement had been cleared for more than a hundred yards each way and that the safe distance was increasing.

Ryder acknowledged the information. “Sergeant Major, I just decided that I no longer need you with me. I want you to get back to the brigade as fast as you can and tell them to run up here fast and not to worry about making noise. Then send a message to Benteen asking him to have the rest of the division to move up as well. Quickly would be greatly appreciated,” he added.

A moment after Haney departed, Lang reappeared. His Bowie knife had blood drying on it. “Man’s best friend is not always a dog,” he said as he poured water from his canteen on it and wiped off the blade. “Sometimes a good knife is even better.”

“How many did you have to kill?”

“Only a couple,” he answered. “Most of them surrendered right away when we burst in among them. They were scattered in groups of no more than three. They weren’t very well organized or attentive, for that matter. Most of them were sound asleep.”

More men began to arrive. In short order, he had a full battalion of the First Maryland in position with more arriving each moment.

“It looks like something’s burning,” said Lang. “Smells like it, too.”

Through the darkness they could see smoke arising from just past the city where the channel to the ocean was. “General, in a few seconds I think that all hell is going to break loose.”

Ryder agreed. He grabbed some junior officers to be couriers. “All three of you are to run like hell.” He grabbed one lieutenant and told him to tell the other battalion commanders to drop any thoughts of secrecy and get their men to him and in position immediately. To the second, he requested that division artillery begin bombarding Spanish positions, also immediately. The third he had deliver a message to General Benteen. “My respects to the general and he might want to consider bringing up the rest of the division even faster than I originally requested. Tell him that the city is about to explode and that things are likely to get very hot in a very short while.”

As the men scooted off, bells, bugles and rifle fire came from Havana. Ryder recalled that the navy was supposed to provide a diversion. Then he wondered whether his attack was to be a diversion for the navy. Either way, a major battle was brewing.

“Jesus Christ,” said Lang. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“At your service,” said photographer William Pywell. “The sun is going to rise shortly and this will be a lovely spot to place a camera.”

Ryder shook his head. “It would be an even lovelier spot for a Gatling Gun.”

* * *

Everyone at British Consul Redford Dunfield’s extensive home was suddenly awakened by the alarms going off all over the city. Custer had been roused from his sleep by the familiar sound of gunfire and was already dressed when everyone gathered in the main dining area. A slightly sleepy Spanish Navy Commander Clemente Cisneros addressed them.

“This may be a false alarm, but I think not. It appears that the Americans have either forced the channel or somehow stormed the forts across the channel. Either way they are now able to bombard the city. It may well be that a major infantry attack will soon be launched against Havana.”

“We must get to the hospital immediately,” Sarah announced. “If you are correct, there will be many wounded to care for.”

“Your devotion to your duty is praiseworthy,” Cisneros said, “but I cannot allow it. My orders are to keep all of you safe and sending you out into what might be the midst of a climactic battle for Havana is not keeping you safe. With or without your permission, you will remain here.”

Sarah was aghast. “Then who will care for the wounded?”

“They will have to fend for themselves until and if it is safe. I cannot run the risk of any of you getting hurt.”

“I assume that your soulful concern applies to me as well,” said a clearly annoyed President Custer.

“Frankly, sir, I don’t much care what happens to you, but my government does. Therefore I am required to protect you from both yourself and the numerous enemies outside the walls of this place who would like to see you dead. Or perhaps they would like to hold you hostage for a large cash ransom and safe passage somewhere.”

“Would Villate or Weyler sink so low as to do that?” Custer asked.

Cisneros laughed harshly. “Most people would do just about anything to save their lives, don’t you think?”

“What about me?” asked Kendrick. “I’m a reporter. I have a right and an obligation to observe and write about the coming battle.”

“I applaud your devotion to your duty and the next book you plan to write, but kindly recall that you have enemies outside these walls who would dearly love to see you dead. Your lovely Juana would be most upset with me if that were to happen; therefore, it will not happen. You will remain here and safely out of the reach of Diego Salazar.”

Custer was incredulous. “You would order your men to fire on other Spaniards?”

“If those so-called Spaniards were to attack this place they would be violating their orders as well as what passes for international law. This is the British Consulate, not some tavern. If anyone attacks, they will have become rebels and criminals and, yes, we will fight them.”

“I’m relieved for Juana’s sake,” said Kendrick, “but I would still like to report on what I can see with my own eyes. I could use runners, but I don’t like to do that?”

“Perhaps you would rather get shot by either Salazar’s men or some trigger-happy Spanish recruit who has been poorly trained and barely knows how to fire his rifle.”

“Good point,” Kendrick muttered. “I’ll stay put.” At least, he thought, until he could figure a way out that would also be reasonably safe.

* * *

“Put your back into it, you lazy Irishman.”

Sweat was pouring down Sergeant Kelly’s face. “If the bloody general would mind getting us some bloody help pulling this dead rhinoceros, maybe we could actually move a lot faster. Kindly recall, general, that this beastie was designed to be pulled by horses and not people.”

Benteen laughed. Kelly was one of his favorite NCOs. “So we don’t have horses but we do have ignorant Irish mules.” He turned to a number of men who had been doing little more than gawk. “All of you, grab ropes, grab anything and pull and pull fast. I want those guns in position in minutes, not hours.”

More hands did help and the column of Gatling guns gained speed. Kelly took a deep breath and yelled for the men to move faster. Benteen helped by telling them all to run, which made Kelly swear loudly.

Kelly understood fully. The machine guns had to be in place before the Spanish swarmed out of their lines and towards the outnumbered Americans. This time there was no barbed wire or trenches to halt them. The hell being rained down on them by American cannon would hinder, but would not stop the massed enemy. Only rifle fire and the precious Gatlings could.

Lang had done a masterful job of modifying them. The wheels were smaller and lower which meant that the guns, now mounted on a swivel, could fire over them. Unfortunately, it also meant that the guns were harder to pull and, since horses were in short supply in Cuba, manpower was essential to move the weapons.

“Hurry up Kelly, the war’s not going to wait for you to get out of bed and start moving.”

“Haney,” he gasped, “you may be bigger than me and have a couple more stripes on your sleeve, but, so help me God, I am going to kill your ass, you fucking shanty Irish bastard.”