Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

The earth shaking thunder of the cannon had been joined by the rattle of small arms fire that was getting ever closer. Their time of reckoning was coming and they were terrified. They huddled together and even the dog picked up on their fears, pressing against them and shaking as much as they did. Manuel wondered if they had anything that could pass as a white flag so they could at least attempt to surrender. To their horror, they heard footsteps all around the crypt. They also realized that the sound of gunfire was fading.

“Leave your weapons in there and come out with your hands up,” The command was shouted in poor but understandable Spanish. “We know that you’re in there. Come out right now or we start shooting.”

They looked at each other and quickly decided to comply. They yelled that they were coming out and staggered into the sunlight where they were confronted by a number of hairy, dirty giants in dressed in blue who had rifles pointed at them. They were the first Americans they had ever seen. All their hands were up with the exception of Manuel who held the dog in his arms. The frightened animal had peed on him but Manuel didn’t care.

“Children, who are you and what are you doing in there?” asked the same man who had ordered them to leave the place of death. His voice was sad and no longer fearsome and he lowered his rifle. “Are you Spanish soldiers?”

Manuel decided that honesty was probably the best policy. “They tried to make us soldiers, but we left them. We didn’t want to fight anyone.” He tried not to sob but couldn’t help himself. The others were crying as well. The dog whimpered and looked confused.

The blue giant translated for his companions who laughed softly. One reached down and petted Alfonso who licked the giant’s hand. “You were wise to desert,” said the man who understood Spanish. “Spaniards are dying by the thousands. Little boys should not be fighting machine guns.”

Manual wasn’t certain what machine guns were but had heard about them. He understood that they were something terrible.

“What do you boys want to do now?” the soldier asked.

Manuel couldn’t help another tear from forming and running down his filthy cheek. The others were sobbing as well. “Sir, we just want to go home.”

One of the soldiers looked away after hearing the translation while another took out part of a loaf of bread, broke off a piece and gave it to the dog who gulped it. Then he saw how the boys looked longingly at the bread, laughed, and brought out a much larger part of a loaf and gave it to Manuel, who thanked him and broke it into roughly equal pieces.

The American gestured towards the road. Large numbers of people were filing down it and all were headed in the same direction, the country. “Mix in with those people and go outside the city. You have no weapons and you look harmless, so it’s not likely that anyone will stop you. After that you’re on your own. Do you know where your home is?”

Manuel nodded proudly. “I am from Santa Cruz del Norte. My mother has a house there and she will take care of us. We will go there until I can find a way to get my friends to their real homes.”

“Your mother will be very proud of you,” the American said. He pushed some more food their way and the other soldiers contributed as well. They would eat well this day. The giant American ruffled Manuel’s hair. “Travel safely.”

They walked for an entire day and were well out of the city and the column of refugees was thinning. They were hungry again and thirsty. Some people were looking carefully at the people in the column as if they wanted to find someone who was lost. He shrugged. All he wanted to do was find his way home.

He gasped as a large hand came down on his shoulder. “You are a difficult young man to find.”

“Corporal Menendez, what are you doing here?”

“I am not a corporal any more. I am only Carlos Menendez and I am a farmer. I was looking for a young boy to take back to his mother. Now it looks like I have found several lost boys and a skinny dog. I think she will be very happy to see you, all of you.” He handed them a canteen. “Now drink some water and gather your strength.”

* * *

Cisneros prided himself on being a good naval officer and one who prepared for contingencies. Thus, he was shocked when Salazar’s soldiers entered the British Consulate through a rear door he didn’t know existed. For the last moments of his life, he ruefully admitted that warships don’t have rear entrances.

Convinced that the consulate’s inhabitants were the enemies of Spain, the remnants of Salazar’s and Monsignor Bernardi’s troops poured in, fired wildly at shadows or anything that moved. They rushed forward and then opened the double front door, letting in more of their men. Cisneros’ men shot down a number of the attackers, but there were too many of them already in the building. Outraged and desperate, Cisneros led a charge against Salazar and his men. Cisneros knew that Salazar had caused this war and this calamity for Spain and he wanted justice for his country.

While Cisneros’ men hesitated for an instant before shooting their fellow countrymen, Salazar’s fanatic troops had no such reservations. Without orders and while Salazar hid behind a wall, they poured a volley into the sailors. Cisneros fell with a bullet in his head and several in his chest. Their leader gone, the remaining sailors ran outside and fled into the city.

Salazar was about to lead a search for Kendrick and Juana when more gunfire hit his men from a room off their left. Enraged, Salazar dropped to the floor and fired through the doorway and heard screams. He looked in and saw several bodies and a number of women cowering on the floor. He quickly satisfied himself that none of the women was Juana and that Kendrick was not among the dead or dying. That meant that they had escaped during the confusion.

A dark-haired nurse knelt by one of the fallen men. She was British or American by her looks. The woman looked up at him, her eyes filled with anger. “Do you realize what you have just done?”

Salazar laughed. There was no longer any threat to worry about. “I have defended Spain’s honor and now I will go and defend mine.”

Sarah now recognized him from the pictures she’d seen. “Diego Salazar, not only did you start this war, but you just shot the President of the United States.”

* * *

This time it was the Americans who were attacking. The siege of Havana was going to come to a conclusion this day. Carlos Menendez had been given a rifle and a dozen raw and confused recruits to lead. He’d protested that his leg wasn’t truly healed and been hit with the flat of a captain’s sword for his efforts.

The latest attack on the American positions had been as great a failure as the others. The machine guns were just too deadly and too terrifying. Even he had an almost overwhelming urge to piss.

Spanish soldiers were yelling and pointing at the advancing Americans. They were terrified and he saw why. The Americans were bringing their devil guns with them. Before this, the Gatlings had sat behind fortifications and killed from a distance. Now they were advancing with the blue-clad infantry.

Again, the Spanish lines broke. Men ran or threw down their weapons and held up their hands in meek surrender. Carlos thought for a moment and decided on the latter. He laid down his rifle, never fired, and raised his hands. He trembled in fear as the Americans came near. Would they kill him? It could even happen by accident. What if a foolish Spaniard decided to shoot an American? The Yanks would be furious and doubtless massacre prisoners.

To his astonishment, the Americans swept by with barely a glance. A few seconds later, he and the others were ordered by gestures to head out of Havana. It dawned on him that the Yanks weren’t interested in keeping and feeding prisoners and that he would be on his own. He had his cane to help him walk and he would head back to Manuel Garcia’s lovely mother. But first he had to find the damned boy.