Robert Conroy - 1882 - Custer in Chains

Whole units had begun surrendering. Spanish officers willingly took charge and organized a parade of disconsolate and unarmed men heading out of Havana. Ryder had no idea where they would go and didn’t give a damn. He was, however, shocked at how many there were. Hopefully, there were too many for the Cuban rebels to massacre. He hoped somebody was taking charge of protecting the prisoners from any attempt at massacre.

“Haney, with decent training and leadership, they could have either held out forever or chewed us to little pieces.”

“Thank God, St. Patrick, and Richard Gatling for saving us,” Haney said. “Now, general dearest, let’s find that damned consulate.”

Before they could advance further, a Spanish captain waving a white flag approached them nervously. “Are you a senior officer?” he asked.

Before Ryder could answer, Haney stepped in front of him, and snapped to attention and glared at the poor man. “I am an aide to General Martin Ryder. Who the devil are you?”

The captain looked like he was going to cry. “I am Captain Joaquin Avila, the senior aide to General Valeriano Weyler who is now the Governor General of Cuba. My general would like to find a senior officer to accept the surrender of all the Spanish forces in Cuba.”

Ryder’s mind reeled. From Hancock on down they had thought that the Spanish would be forced to surrender Havana, but this man had just said that Weyler was willing to surrender all of Cuba. Jesus. He turned to a young American officer who was watching and listening with his mouth open. “Lieutenant, run back to where the field telegraph reaches and send messages to Generals Hancock, Benteen, and Miles. Tell them that Weyler wishes to surrender all of Cuba and not just Havana. Tell them that I am going to accept that surrender on their behalf and order a cease fire to take affect at least in my area.”

* * *

Prentice had managed to cadge a lift back to the Orion where Janson’s ship was in line to enter the confines of Havana’s harbor. Gunfire from the Spanish side of the narrow channel had been reduced to sporadic small arms fire. To further protect the lightly armored auxiliary cruiser, Janson had the port side of the hull draped in wood planks to help keep bullets from piercing the Orion ’s thin hull.

A pair of Gatling guns had been mounted on the port side as well, and bursts of bullets had silenced almost all of the remaining enemy gunners. In his opinion, it was indeed becoming the age of the machine gun.

Prentice fully understood the difficulty of moving a large and cumbersome machine gun while under fire. Mounting guns on a stable but moveable platform such as a ship was an ideal use of the deadly weapons. Not only could the guns rake enemy positions, but they could also be used effectively against attacks by small boats.

“In for a penny,” said Janson as the ship entered the narrow channel. Buildings and fortifications on both sides were smoking and some were in flames. Prentice held his breath as they moved slowly through what was clearly the most dangerous part of their journey.

Then the channel widened and they emerged into the harbor. “Dante’s Inferno,” said Prentice.

“If Dante wrote about a city on fire, then you’re right.”

Clouds of smoke partly obscured the sunlight and made them choke. Prentice hoped he wasn’t choking on ashes from human flesh, then decided there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had come a long way in the last few months and wasn’t certain he liked the trip. It had been one thing to sink an enemy gunboat and then a battleship, but killing that man in the Spanish fort had been difficult to deal with, even though the man had been attacking him and it had occurred so quickly. He would never get over the look on the man’s face as he lay there mortally wounded from Prentice’s sword stroke. Now it was terrible to watch a proud and ancient city burning to death.

Large numbers of small boats sailed or steamed past them, clearly trying to escape to the open sea. “I suppose we should try to stop them,” said Janson, “but there are so damn many of them. Besides, the admiral doesn’t seem too concerned, so why should we.”

“Oh my God,” Prentice exclaimed. “Look at that!”

Many of the buildings lining the once beautiful waterfront were burning and the streets were packed with Spanish soldiers. Most of them were without weapons while others threw their rifles into the harbor. Some were waving white flags and others simply waving their arms in a frantic attempt to show that they were harmless. A soldier fell into the water, pushed by those behind him. More followed. Only a couple surfaced.

“We could kill a thousand with one volley,” said Janson. “Unless given a direct order from Admiral Porter I will not fire, and perhaps not even then. It would be like slaughtering sheep or chickens.”

Signal flags fluttered from the flagship. Prentice interpreted. “We are to anchor but keep up steam. No small boats will be allowed near us. I guess that’s in case they try to rush us and overwhelm us.”

“Makes sense. Somehow, though, I don’t think the good admiral expected this sort of reception. Nope, I’ll bet you a dollar that the old war dog expected to fight his way in and may just be a little disappointed, just like he might have been when the Spanish squadron surrendered without a fight.”

Prentice laughed softly. “Skipper, I’m not the slightest bit disappointed.”

* * *

Salazar’s legion now consisted of himself and two very nervous soldiers. He was convinced that they would run at the first chance, so he kept his revolver out and watched them carefully. He would not put it past them to attack him and rob him.

He had given considerable thought to where Juana and Kendrick would go and decided there was only one logical conclusion. With escape through the crumbling Spanish lines and out to the Americans still impractical because of ongoing fighting; that left only the residence of Juana’s uncle, the esteemed Bishop Estefan Campoy.

Salazar pounded on the door of the bishop’s residence and it was opened fairly quickly. The bishop stood before him, his arms folded across his chest. “You may not enter here.”

Salazar growled and pushed the cleric aside. Campoy again tried to stop him and Salazar knocked him down. When Campoy got to his feet, his face was bloodied. “You have struck a man of the cloth. You have committed a grievous sin.”

Salazar laughed. “Add it to the list.”

Campoy tried to block Salazar’s entrance to the kitchen. Juana and Kendrick stood against a wall. They were unarmed and looked almost resigned to their fate. Kendrick had armed himself with a kitchen knife, which Salazar thought was hilarious.

Salazar howled with glee and aimed his pistol at them. “You are going to die.”

“No,“ said the bishop. “If you shoot them you will be guilty of the crime of murder. I will testify at your trial and you will hang.”

“No, bishop, that simply will not happen,” Salazar said. “Don’t you think I planned for this eventuality? I knew they would come running to you if they got out of the Consulate. Now I am going to kill them and when they are dead I will fall on my knees and beg you to hear my Confession. As a good priest, you will be obliged to do so and then confession of my crime will be protected by the seal of the confessional. You will not be permitted to testify against me according to the rules of Holy Mother Church.

Campoy groaned. “Don’t do it,” he pleaded. “Don’t kill them.”

Salazar pushed the bishop aside. Neither Kendrick nor Juana moved, which puzzled him. They even seemed to be looking over his shoulder. At what? Did they see God? Perhaps they were paralyzed with fright? He raised his right arm, but his right arm wouldn’t respond. Seconds later, torrents of pain overwhelmed him and he dropped to his knees. The pistol dropped uselessly to the floor. Instinctively, he tried to reach it with his left hand, but he felt something smash into that shoulder as well. He howled and he fell onto his back. He looked up and saw a demon.