Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

Lang’s intended lightning thrust towards the British Consulate had confronted reality. The old streets of Havana were filled with retreating Spanish soldiers who were fighting each other as well as Cuban rebels. Black smoke filled the air and hot ashes from burning homes and buildings fell on them. Lang thought that the city of Havana was burning and being turned to cinders just like ancient Rome had been destroyed under Nero.

Lang’s men moved as a compact mass towards what they felt was the right direction. The streets were narrow and congested and, even with Diego Valdez and a score of his men to help, they got lost a couple of times. Some roads were little more than alleys. Several times they were confronted by groups of Spanish soldiers who, on seeing the disciplined Americans, melted away. Only one time did a Spaniard open fire on them and he was cut down in a barrage of gunfire. Lang commented that moving through Havana was like swimming upstream against a school of desperate fish.

The Spanish were fighting the Cubans and the Americans, and the Cubans were fighting each other as the last act of a brutal civil war played out in the blood-soaked streets. Several times, Valdez and his men had to be restrained from exacting brutal revenge against their oppressors. Valdez’s mistress, Maria, accompanied him and tried to act as a calming influence. As a result, atrocities were at a minimum.

Many Spaniards wished to surrender, but accepting their surrender was not the purpose of Lang’s column. Their goal was the British Consulate and the rescue of President George Armstrong Custer. That Custer was imprisoned with other Americans who were far more popular and personally more important to Lang and the other Americans was irrelevant. They had a task assigned to them.

They passed the smashed and smoldering fortress of Castillo del Principe. Ahead they could see the spires of the Cathedral of San Cristobal. Smoke was swirling around it as well. “My world is burning,” said Valdez. Maria caught up with them and held Valdez’s arm.

“You’ll have a long time to rebuild it,” answered Lang.

Lang signaled a halt. Ahead of them was their goal, the large enclave that was the British Consulate and the home of Redford Dunfield. The massive wooden doors were open and smoke was pouring from a number of windows. Bloody bodies were strewn around the outside of what had been a magnificent estate.

They moved cautiously to the main entrance and walked in, their weapons at the ready. They passed more bodies as they entered the central courtyard. There was silence. Lang wondered if the place had been abandoned. If so, where the devil was Custer?

“Hello,” Lang hollered. “Anybody home,” he added and immediately felt foolish for saying that. A couple of his men snickered nervously and he silenced them with a glare.

Valdez yelled something in Spanish and there was still silence. “This is the United States Army,” Lang added. “Come out. You are safe.”

There was a rustling noise followed by a woman’s voice. “Is that you, Captain Lang?”

Lang breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes it is, Mrs. Damon, although I regret to inform you that neither your general nor Sergeant Haney are with us.”

Sarah and Ruta emerged from a hallway. They were filthy and bruised and their clothing was torn. Each was carrying a rifle and had a pistol stuck in their waistbands.

“I hope you have a doctor with you. President Custer was badly wounded in the fighting. I’m afraid he might die.”

* * *

General Weyler had a hard time finding the current headquarters of Governor General Villate as he had moved it several times in response to changing threats from both the Americans and the Cuban insurgents. Finally, he located it in a small abandoned hotel. A number of staff officers were wandering around in confusion. They looked lost and thoroughly dispirited. Weyler grabbed the arm of a captain he knew was an aide to Villate.

“Captain Avila, where the hell is the general?”

The captain laughed harshly. “How the devil would I know? I haven’t seen him in hours. It is my firm belief, General Weyler, that the bird has flown and is now on the high seas and headed for some other country that will give him and his money sanctuary.”

Weyler grabbed the Avila by the collar. “Are you saying that he has deserted his post?”

Avila laughed, almost hysterically. His world was crashing around him. “Yes, General. Tell me, do you see him around? No, and nobody has, like I said, for some time. The last time I did see him he had several foot lockers and other pieces of luggage ready to be loaded onto a waiting carriage. I thought he was merely moving his quarters again, but he had already told me that he would not return to Spain in disgrace for losing Cuba where he would have to endure a court martial and possibly a hanging. Even if he wasn’t hanged, he would suffer eternal shame and disgrace. I believe those boxes and luggage contained money and securities to help him set up a new and prosperous life in another country. I have been looking at some of Villate’s correspondence and I now know that he had been in contact with a man who owned a fishing boat. I do not believe that the American navy would concern itself with such an insignificant craft if he should try to flee in it.”

Weyler could see Avila’s logic. “Then we won’t even consider him.”

“With respects, General Weyler, I believe that you are the next senior officer. Therefore, the command of the armies and government of Cuba now rests on your shoulders.”

Villate you bastard, Weyler thought, but then smiled. The old man had done him a favor. Yes, he would likely have to surrender, but the shame would be Villate’s and not his. There would be an inquiry in Madrid where scorn would be heaped on Villate’s absent head. He, Valeriano Weyler, would be found guilty of nothing more than inheriting Villate’s mess. He would show how he had fought bravely but had been betrayed by his leader. He would survive and likely be given an even more important command by a grateful Spain and king.

“Get me any senior officers you can find. We have to begin negotiating an end to this war.”

* * *

Against the advice of his staff, Ryder had entered Havana. He had gotten word that President Custer had been shot and that Sarah, Ruta, and the others were safe. Although he was not in the slightest bit fond of Custer, he could not bring himself to wish ill to the foolish man. He had sent a doctor on ahead with orders to get to the consulate as quickly as possible. As to his responsibilities, he still had a brigade to coordinate as it moved deeper and deeper into the mass of buildings, many of them burning, that was Havana.

The news that a Spaniard had shot Custer had spread rapidly throughout the army. It angered the American soldiers who were fighting even more ferociously than before. Rifle fire and Gatling guns were destroying any resistance that the Spanish could manage. If something didn’t happen, the battle could turn into a massacre as other American forces had penetrated other parts of Havana’s defenses. Pywell took picture after picture and Martin wondered how many of them would turn out. Enough, he hoped, so that the world would see the carnage.

Whenever they could, soldiers yelled in Spanish for the enemy to surrender. They were told that they would be protected and treated well. They were told that they would be sent home if that was their wish. It was beginning to work. Numbers of Spanish soldiers had thrown down their rifles and begun walking towards them with their hands up. Their expressions said that they were terrified they would be murdered by the American soldiers. Numerous white flags were waving from windows as well as by individual soldiers. Ryder gave the order to cease fire and an uneasy silence descended. Without being ordered, Spanish soldiers lay down their arms and nervously stepped away.