◆ Chapter 5 ◆
Acting Major Jack Barnes smiled and dramatically swept his arm over the crowded harbor. They were on the ramparts of historic but obsolete Fort McHenry. Below them was a horde of ships of all shapes and sizes. He pointed at three in particular. “There, Colonel, are the three ships that are going to take the regiment to Cuba.”
Ryder shook his head sadly. “Please don’t tell me their names are the Niña, Pinta, and Santa Maria.”
Barnes laughed nervously. “They’re old, sir, but not that old.”
Ryder reluctantly agreed. The ships assigned to the First Maryland looked like old tubs with rust and dirt streaks on their hulls. But he’d been assured that they were seaworthy and had steam engines, although two of them were paddlewheelers. They’d been chartered by the Navy, and he presumed the Navy knew what it was doing. Each ship would carry one battalion of infantry along with as much supplies as could be stuffed in her hold. After the men were loaded, food and ammunition were the highest priority. No, he corrected himself, the only priority. And water, he added.
The waters around Fort McHenry were filled with steamships of all sizes. Barnes said he’d actually counted over two hundred before giving up. Additional ships continued to arrive. U.S. Navy warships were further down toward the mouth of the Chesapeake and would escort the ragtag armada to Cuba when the time came. These consisted of the recently renamed cruiser Atlanta and a number of armed sloops and converted merchantmen. The Atlanta had been the HMS Shannon. It was felt that her ten-inch guns were powerful enough to handle anything the Spanish had, including her two battleships. Ryder again hoped that the Navy knew what it was doing.
“Major, I have a sneaking suspicion that there is going to be a real circus when the order is given to embark. Therefore, I want an armed platoon on each of our ships to protect them from being stolen out from under us.”
“Do you think that’s really necessary?”
“Yes, I do. You’ve seen some of these units. I was recently told that to call them mobs would be to insult a true mob, yet they all want to be in the first convoy and get all the glory. Since there aren’t enough ships to take everyone, it’s possible that some of these so-called warriors will try to steal our transports. Look, we’ve been training hard and it shows. However, some of our sister regiments have been acting like this is a picnic with rifles.”
Barnes laughed. “You’re right. I’ll have men on each ship and they’ll be armed and ordered to use force to repel boarders. By the way, Colonel, what have you heard from Haney?”
“Nothing, and I don’t expect to, at least not for a while. If he can, he is going to meet us off Florida. If not, we’ll wait until we land at Matanzas. Right now he’s probably running around Cuba with a pack of rebels and having a wonderful time killing Spaniards.”
* * *
For Kendrick it had been one of the most awkward dinners in memory. Gilberto Salazar had tried being a gracious host, but had showed up drunk for the meal and continued to drink throughout it. His wife, a stern and plain woman named Juana, had been there as well and had glared daggers at her husband. There was clearly no love lost between them.
To make matters even more awkward, Salazar had brought a German woman named Helga to sit beside him, and she was obviously his mistress. Helga was blond, plump, and looked vacantly around the room. It was clear that she’d been drinking as well and, with each deep breath she took, her ample breasts threatened to spill out of her dress. That Juana wanted to kill both of them was evident. Kendrick found himself feeling sorry for the slighted woman. Salazar’s wife was thin, had a hook nose, and wore her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was dressed in black like a caricature of a nun and said little throughout the meal.
Just as the dinner was grinding to an end, a messenger came with information that enraged Salazar. He crumpled the note and threw it across the room before announcing that rebels had attacked a patrol and killed several of his men. He would have to leave immediately. He lurched to his feet and ordered his horse saddled and a troop of cavalry to accompany him. Kendrick had no idea what use Salazar’s presence would be, since, by his own admission, the rebels would be far, far away from the site of the killings by the time he got there. Kendrick was delighted that he was not invited to accompany him.
Just before departing, Salazar turned on his wife. “I brought you to this meal to meet the American,” he snarled. “I thought you would at least be civil.”
Juana was not intimidated. “How can I be civil in the presence of your whore? Why do you insist on flaunting the simple creature? Why don’t you just leave her in bed where she belongs?”
Salazar grabbed Juana’s arm and pulled her to her feet. She showed no emotion while Helga commenced to blubber. “See what I have to put up with, Kendrick? My own wife, a woman who should be submissive, shows no respect for me. Do you like women, Kendrick?”
“Of course,” he answered softly, wondering what the hell kind of trouble any answer would result in.
“Excellent,” Salazar said as he roughly pushed Juana back into her chair. “Tonight she will come to your room and you have my permission to fuck her. No, I insist that you fuck her.”
With that astonishing pronouncement, Salazar left. Kendrick figured that Salazar would be gone the better part of a week. With his angry departure, the diners abruptly left for their respective rooms.
As was customary in Cuba, they had eaten late and Kendrick had not gotten to his suite until midnight. He stripped to his cotton underclothing, sat on the bed, and lit a thin cigar. He normally enjoyed a good Cuban smoke, but not this evening. He was too tense to fall asleep so there was no danger of fire from smoking in bed.
He heard a noise and watched as the doorknob turned and the door opened. To his astonishment, Juana entered. She was wearing a long nightgown and carried what looked like a robe over her right arm.
She stood a few feet in front of him and dropped the robe from over her arm. She had a derringer in her hand.
“My husband commanded me to come here and submit to you. If I don’t, he will beat me. The servants have seen me enter your room and will believe that you and I will have done what he wished.”
This is incredible, Kendrick thought. “You don’t have to worry about me, Juana. I would never hurt you or take you against your will.”
She blinked and nodded. “I’d like to believe you, but I don’t. Gilberto has been cruel and brutal, but he’s never done anything like this before. I think he has been slipping further into madness each day. Regardless, if you try to force me, I will kill you.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“And why not?”
He noticed that her hand was shaking. “You didn’t cock the pistol.”
She looked bewildered. “What?”
“With that model, you have to cock the hammer to make it fire. Are you even certain it’s loaded?”
Her jaw dropped. He reached over and took the derringer from her unprotesting hand. She hadn’t cocked it, but it was loaded. He removed the bullet and handed the pistol back to her.
“If you’d like, you may hit me over the head with it. However, you will have no reason to.”
Juana smiled wanly and sat down in a chair across the room. “In truth, I was never too worried. Some of Gilberto’s friends are as monstrous as he, but you did not strike me as one of them. Now, however, I must stay here long enough for the two women who spy for him to be satisfied that we have consummated his command. Someday I think I will delight in having those two shrews whipped within an inch of their lives, but that would mean I would sink to his level.”
“Would he really beat you?”
Juana shrugged. “He has in the past. Nothing serious, just a few slaps and punches to places where the bruises won’t show. He’s a very cruel person who has had people who offended him whipped and mutilated, especially the peasants. Some he’s even had killed. He will do nothing like that to me. My uncle is a bishop here in Havana and Gilberto fears for his immortal soul in his own strange way.”
Kendrick knew many men who beat their wives. It was quite common, although, as a bachelor, he didn’t know how to judge someone who did. He was no saint, but he had never struck a woman and couldn’t imagine circumstances where he would. Self-defense, of course, was another matter and a woman with a pistol was a clear threat. He was glad that Juana was so inept with guns.
“How can I help you, Juana?”
She smiled again and this time it was with a measure of warmth. “Since we are going to be together for a while, you might get me one of those cigarillos.”
* * *
President Custer read the latest intelligence estimates and was appalled. “Are you telling me that as of only a few years ago, the Spanish had a quarter of a million soldiers in Cuba? Dear God, I didn’t think they had a fifth of that.”
Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln was equally dismayed. “This information only came to light recently. The large numbers of Spanish soldiers was a result of their long war against Cuban insurgents. We have no idea how many of them remain. We do know, however, that significant reinforcements have landed and that others are en route.”
Lieutenant General Phil Sheridan shifted his bulk in a chair that was far too small for him. “These are only numbers, General Custer. What they don’t say is how well trained, equipped, or led the Spanish army is. It is also very likely that many of their soldiers are Cuban militia of dubious quality.”
“There are still far too many of them. Dear God, what have I gotten us into?”
“This is the war you wanted,” Sheridan said, stifling a laugh. “However, there is some good news. Many of the Spanish troops are not in the Havana area. We estimate there are about fifty thousand in and around Santiago, with other sizeable garrisons protecting other cities from the rebels. That and the sheer size of Cuba means that the Spanish will not be able to easily reinforce Havana, although they will doubtless try once we land and commit ourselves. We will always be outnumbered, but we should be able to outfight them, even though they will be based in a heavily fortified city.”
Custer wiped his brow. He was sweating profusely. “What will the Spanish do when we land?”
Lincoln was about to respond, but Sheridan beat him to it. “General Valeriano Weyler commands the troops around Havana. He is a young, fiery, aggressive and cruel commander. He will attack as soon as he can and will attempt to drive us into the sea around Matanzas. He will not permit his army to become a punching bag for us to wear down and destroy.”
Custer stood and paced his office. “When will we attack?”
“It’s somewhat up to the Navy, but their plans say there will be no more than two weeks before embarking. It will also take a good week to steam to Matanzas. Then figure another week to disembark the troops, unload supplies, and get organized.”
“That’s too long,” Custer said in a whisper.
“We could call it off,” Lincoln said hopefully, “and give negotiations another chance.”
“No, damn it! We’d look like bloody fools. We have to fight them and beat them. We must have this war and we must take Cuba. Just as Blaine says, our country’s future as a great power depends on it. We can’t back off and let a third-rate pissant country like Spain humiliate us. I don’t like what I’ve heard, but I have to accept the reality of the situation.”
“It doesn’t matter how the Spanish split their forces, our boys will still be outnumbered many times over,” said Sheridan. “We haven’t been able to enlist anywhere near the number of men we thought we’d need. You could be looking at a bloodbath if things don’t work out.”
“All the more reason I should be in command,” Custer snapped. “It’s going to take a brave and resourceful commander to lead the Army to victory and I’m not certain Nelson Miles is that man.”
Sheridan laughed. “Then replace him with Hancock, but you cannot leave this country and remain president.”
Custer bristled. “Winfield Scott Hancock can go straight to fucking hell. He will never command a thing while I am president.”
Custer rose and stormed out of the room. He went directly up to his personal quarters to find that Libbie had beaten him there. She had been in an adjacent room and been listening to every word through a speaking tube held against the wall.
“Libbie, they want to destroy me,” he said as he pounded his fist on a dresser.
“Of course they do,” she said calmly. “Jealousy from insignificant others is the fate of all great men.” She sat down on a couch and he sat beside her. She smiled and pulled his head down to her lap where he could rest against her bosom.
“You will win, George. You will prevail against both Spain and the small minds who conspire against you. They can never stop us.”
* * *
Two nights later, Kendrick and Juana had a glass of brandy and another cigarillo in his room. As before, she was dressed in a nightgown while he had discreetly put a robe over his underclothing. This time their meeting was far more cordial—she did not bring a pistol. It was a point they both found amusing. Salazar was still looking for rebels and would be gone for at least a week longer.
“What are you going to write about my husband?”
“The truth. I’m a reporter and I like to do that as often as possible.”
“Will you say that he is a monstrous maniac?”
“If that’s the truth, yes, and I am investigating that possibility. My readers in America are fascinated by the type of person who would massacre the innocent men on the Eldorado and feel no qualms.” When she started to respond, he hushed her with a wave of his hand. “I know that Spain considers them to have been criminals and pirates, but they deserved a trial. Perhaps some or all could have been sentenced to jail and not executed. That would have been justice in accordance with established law. What your husband did was nothing short of murder. As a result of your husband’s actions, we now have a war between our two countries and people wonder why he did what he did.”
She took a deep drag of her cigarillo. “I could tell you but you would never print it.”
“Try me.”
“All right,” she said with a sigh. “Gilberto Salazar is not a truly brave man. He is inadequate and a coward with women and a man who hides those inadequacies with brutal acts. He’s never been in a real battle, only skirmishes with runaway slaves. He fears that he will fail in front of others in the event of a real fight. On a different level, he has never consummated our marriage, although he did try at first. For some reason, he’s afraid of me; perhaps he’s unable to perform with all women.”
Kendrick was shocked by her blunt admission. “Jesus. You’re right, though. I have no idea how my publishers would ever print this. Juana, are you telling me you’re still a virgin after being married to him for how long?”
“Ten years, and my so-called virginity is highly debatable. He did try for the first few months, but it turned out that his sword is small, blunt, and not made of good metal.”
Kendrick didn’t even try to stifle a grin, “But what about Helga?”
“Oh, I’m sure she satisfies him, but not in a way that I ever would with him. Besides, she’s more of an ornament than a true mistress. Now do you see why I am so bitter? I’ve wasted my youth on that fool just like he’s wasting his time trying to save Spain’s presence in a land that doesn’t want her. I cut my hair short because he likes it long and I keep myself thin because he wants his women more robust. It pleases me to anger him and everything he stands for.”
“Are you saying that you are a rebel?”
Juana smiled and this time it lit up her thin face. “Yes, and I’m proud of it. Since it’s widely assumed that you are a spy as well as a reporter, I propose to show you everything I can about Spain’s strengths and weaknesses around Havana. To help accomplish that, I propose we go riding around in Gilberto’s carriage and let you see everything.”
“That would be marvelous for several reasons, so, yes, I accept your kind offer.”
“Good. And I hope you have plans to leave this place before the war actually starts.”
“When I decided to come here, I believe I had two choices. One was to stay and write a journal about the war and publish it later. The second was to get out of here as soon as it became dangerous. I’m no coward, but I do think leaving discreetly is the best option and, yes, I do have plans to do so.”
“Excellent.”
“But what will happen to you, Juana?”
She rose and walked to the doorway. “I can protect myself, although the next time I need to I’ll have the pistol cocked.”
* * *
“Morituri te salutant,” whispered Sarah as they joined the gaily dressed throng swarming into the White House.
“I am not a gladiator and this is not Rome,” Ryder said with a smile. “However, if you like, I will go up to General Custer and tell him that we who are about to die salute you.”
She playfully tapped him on the arm with her fan. “I keep forgetting you’re partly civilized.”
The invitation to the White House had come as a surprise. The Custers had decided to invite just about anybody in Congress and the government and all military personnel of significant rank to attend what was a grand going-away party. As commander of a regiment, Ryder qualified on the low end of the list of important people. He mentioned to Sarah that he thought it might be similar to the ball held by the British before they marched out to fight Napoleon at Waterloo. At least that battle ended well for the Brits, he thought. How would this coming campaign fare for the United States?
This was the first time inside the White House for either of them and each was dressed for the occasion. Sarah wore a gown of deep green that exposed her bare pink shoulders. The cut of the gown emphasized her trim figure and very slender waist. Ryder wore a dress blue uniform and, since he felt that many were staring at Sarah, thought that he was fairly inconspicuous. There were scores of colonels present and a fair number of generals, including Sheridan and Miles. His divisional commander, General Terry, looked exhausted and older than his actual late fifties and Ryder wondered if he was up to the coming task.
If there had been a receiving line to see the president, it had disintegrated into chaos. Thus, he was surprised when Libbie Custer stood smiling in front of them.
“It’s good to see you, Colonel. I believe the last time was somewhere near the Little Big Horn and I was thanking you for saving George’s life.”
Ryder remembered no such incident. He’d seen her at a distance before the wounded Custer was evacuated. He did not contradict her. He introduced Sarah to her and they chatted politely for a few seconds before Libbie wandered off.
“I can see why men fall in love with her,” Sarah said. “She is exquisitely lovely and has a splendid figure. That and she has a wry smile that is quite engaging. And to think she’s forty years old. Goodness,” she giggled, “am I ever being cattish and spiteful?”
“But did you notice her eyes? They were evaluating you, Sarah.”
“For what, I wonder?”
“Because I’m one of a diminishing number who know that Custer nearly destroyed the Seventh Cavalry and that it was not his brilliant idea that had me there with the machine guns. I think she wonders if you too are a potential threat to her husband.”
Sarah was about to respond when the subject of their discussion suddenly appeared before them. “Colonel Ryder,” Custer said genially. His eyes were red and his face was flushed. The president had been drinking. “I envy you and everyone who is going with you to Cuba. The old ladies in the government insist that the United States cannot get along without my presence here in Washington. Utter nonsense if you ask me.”
Ryder introduced Custer to Sarah. The president bowed deeply and made an obvious attempt to look down the front of her dress. She flushed and smiled tightly. She thought about saying to Custer that there was more than a touch of gray in his once golden hair, but decided against it. She noted that Martin was grim and angry so she squeezed his arm tightly. He got the message and turned away. Punching the President of the United States in the mouth while in the White House was not a good career move even if the man was being a boor.
Custer reiterated his desire to join in the invasion of Cuba and wandered off. “Is he always like that?” she asked.
“Obnoxious and crude? Only when he’s awake. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in years and he never used to drink the way I hear he does now. Perhaps power has changed him, or even frustrated him. It’s rumored that Libbie generally does a lot of his thinking for him. That’s probably only partly true. The man is impetuous and reckless, not stupid.”
She steered him outside where it was cooler. And safer for Martin’s career. It would not have done for Martin to have made a scene in front of several hundred of the most powerful people in the country.
“Would you like me to do your thinking for you, Martin?”
“No, and I don’t want to do yours, although I would definitely want your advice.”
“As I would yours. Now tell me why you never grew a beard like so many of those very important people have?”
He grinned at the memories. “First, I did try on several occasions, but the thing always came in scraggly. Frankly, I’m very glad that having a great bushy beard is going out of fashion. But why?”
She smiled sweetly. “Because I’m thinking of letting you kiss me tonight, and I’m glad your beard won’t scratch my face.”
“Then that makes two of us.”
Sarah was glad it was dark out so Martin couldn’t see her face suddenly turn red. She had just recalled what her good friend Ruth had said about men’s beards itching and scratching. When Sarah had mentioned the harsh feel of whiskers on her cheeks, Ruth had said, “Oh no, I’m talking about my thighs.”
* * *
The open carriage wound its way through the streets of Havana and out into the countryside. A trusted servant of Juana’s drove while she and Kendrick sat in comfort and talked quietly. Juana held a parasol, which she used to try and shield both of them from both the sun and the prying and angry eyes of the Cuban people.
Kendrick was astonished at the large number of Spanish soldiers and sailors wandering around the town. Outside of Havana proper, hundreds of civilian workers were digging trenches and building up fortifications. Even though he considered himself a novice when it came to military matters, it was apparent that any attempt to storm Havana could result in a bloody catastrophe.
On the positive side, the soldiers and sailors he did see were, for the most part, slovenly and seemed uninterested in the possibility of the coming fighting. Of course, they might react differently when the shooting started and their lives were in danger.
Nor were the officers any better. Many of them appeared to be dandies and fops. Some were nothing more than boys. He decided that Spain had superiority in numbers, but not in the quality of her troops. He would send a coded message to that effect to Washington. Of course, even poor soldiers might fight well from behind the protection of a defensive wall or the security of a trench.
Juana read his mind. “What will you tell them?”
“As I said before, the truth is often useful. I still think it’s incredible that Spain hasn’t shut down the telegraph lines running from Havana to other countries, and that includes the U.S. They appear oblivious to the fact that most of the Western Union workers are American. They seem to think that modern technology is irrelevant. Of course, if they do shut it down, they would have no way of communicating with Madrid. It’s an incredible dilemma for them.”
They continued on their ride and she showed him one of several large prison camps. “General Weyler has organized these atrocities. If he feels that the locals are not trustworthy or have harbored guerillas, he’s had entire villages uprooted and the people sent to these camps where they are poorly fed, inadequately housed, and abused. People are dying by the hundreds and Spain doesn’t care. Spain should not be in charge of any country.”
A wooden stockade surrounded the camp. Inside were at least a thousand men, women, and children. All were jammed together tightly. Most had dark skins, but a number were lighter. All of them were dressed in rags and were filthy and thin to the point of emaciation. Many bore bruises and those that they could see through the walls of the stockade looked at Juana and Kendrick with eyes that were filled with hatred.
“I guess they don’t realize we’re on their side,” Kendrick said.
“Are we?” Juana asked. “What have we done for them? General Weyler calls these places ‘concentration camps,’ because he has concentrated all of these so-called enemies together where they can be watched. While here, they are given minimal rations, no water for cleaning, and the more attractive women are either abused or allowed to sell themselves for additional food. This and other places like it are nothing but hell.”
“I’ll write about it.”
“You might want to add that many of these imprisoned souls are recently freed slaves who have traded one form of bondage for another.”
Kendrick simply nodded. What was happening to so-called free slaves in Cuba wasn’t all that different from what was happening to freed slaves in the United States. With Reconstruction over, the Negro was being pushed farther and farther down the economic ladder, particularly in the South. Perhaps his editors wouldn’t like reading such an interpretation. He would be discreet and write about the camps, but not that they were filled with freed slaves.
Juana came to him again that night. She walked to an open window and looked up at the stars. “Gilberto will be back tomorrow evening. I strongly urge you to be far from here when he arrives.”
“I thought I was his guest,” he said jokingly. She was again wearing the long and shapeless cotton nightgown.
“I have people keeping an eye on him and they say he is furious that he hasn’t caught the rebels who killed his men. At some point he will recall that he sent me to you and realize that his honor has been insulted and he will feel compelled to take action. It won’t matter that he was the one who suggested it. It’s contradictory and doesn’t make sense, but that is the way he thinks. He is often far from logical or rational.”
“Then I can’t leave you. He’ll hurt you.”
Juana laughed. “No he won’t. I told you he’s afraid of me and my family. He’ll scream and rage and then ignore me, which I find quite acceptable.” She reached out and patted his cheek. She didn’t tell him that he would likely slap her and even punch her. He didn’t need to know that. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. And when you leave you’ll go with one of my men and a companion of his who arrived a day ago and has been living in the servants’ quarters.”
She stood and walked to the window. The nightgown fabric was light and he could see the outline of her thin body through the moonlight. She caught him watching.
“Am I that ugly, James?”
He took a deep breath. “No, my lady, far from it.”
His initial impressions of her as a stern and plain woman had long since disappeared. She was a classic case of the more he got to know her, the more attractive she became. He thought it amusing since he generally liked his women a little on the plump side and a whole lot more bosomy. Juana had small breasts at best.
“Well then, he sent me here so that I would be punished and humiliated by having sex with you and that hasn’t happened. Nor has he been cuckolded. Yet.”
Juana carefully and slowly unbuttoned the front of her nightgown and gracefully stepped out of it. “You are absolutely lovely,” Kendrick whispered. She smiled and blew out the one candle that had been illuminating the room.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed. He started to rise but she pushed him back down. She took his head and held it to her breasts. “First things first,” she said. “We have all night, so we will take all night. You will now kiss my breasts lovingly and slowly like I’ve always wanted and imagined and then we will move on to other things.”
He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her so tightly she gasped. “My dear Juana, I exist to please you,” he said and realized that he meant it.
* * *
Clarissa Harlow Barton was in her early sixties. Better known as Clara Barton, she had recently founded the American Red Cross. She had tended the sick and wounded in the Civil War and seen the results of the most horrific fighting. She’d also come under fire and nearly been killed. After the war, she’d traveled to Europe and helped during the Franco-Prussian War. To Sarah, she gave the immediate impression that she was a stern and demanding taskmistress.
The unmarried Clara Barton was in Baltimore to oversee the shipment of medical supplies to the south when the army finally embarked for Cuba.
“You and your friend will not be permitted to serve on the battlefield,” she said sternly.
“May I ask why not?” Sarah enquired. “I have experience with terrible wounds. My father is a doctor and I assisted him on many occasions. I’ve seen men bleeding and mangled from wounds and injuries and, yes, even shot. I did not flinch then and will not in the future. Not that it matters, but I’ve also assisted in childbirth, and I’ve even watched as people died.
“And as to my friend, Ruth Holden spent many months as a volunteer nurse in Paris during the terrible fighting. If anything, she has far more experience than I do.”
“Who is he?” Barton asked.
Sarah was perplexed. “Who?”
Barton smiled slightly. “The man you wish to follow, that’s who.”
“Am I that obvious? I guess I am. His name is Martin Ryder and he commands the First Maryland Volunteers.”
Barton shuffled through papers on her desk until she found the one she wanted. “According to this, your young colonel is highly regarded by his superiors, his peers and his men. His men are well disciplined and well behaved. I understand that he is concerned about their hygiene. The next time you see him tell him to make sure his medical personnel keep themselves and their tools as clean as possible.”
“He will be leaving in a couple of days. When I see him next, I will tell him what you said.” Of course it would be in between desperate and passionate kisses.
Barton nodded. “As to you and your friends, you will accompany us to Jacksonville and, if circumstances warrant, perhaps down to the Florida Keys. We will be going by train to Charleston, which is as far south as decent rail lines go. There is a narrow gauge track running from Charleston to Jacksonville, and if possible we will use that. It’s a shame that the Confederate railroad tracks were so miserable during the war and that there have been only minimal improvements since then.”
It was common knowledge that the U.S. government was trying to widen the gauge and extend the line south to Daytona, but that was not going to happen overnight. There was resistance on the part of the railroad lines to building farther south since there was little in the way of civilization and customers in that direction.
Sarah nodded politely. She was delighted that the redoubtable Clara Barton was going to let her at least go to Jacksonville. Once there she and the others could prove their worth, and, if the war lasted as long as some people thought it would, she was confident that hospitals would be established on Cuban soil. It only made sense. Wounded soldiers had to be treated by skilled medical personnel as soon as possible; therefore, they would have to be close to the battlefields. Shipping them to Jacksonville or even the Florida Keys made no sense. She would take one step at a time.
She profusely thanked Miss Barton and left before the woman could change her mind. On the train back to Baltimore, she considered how much her life had changed and how much Martin Ryder now meant to her. The kiss she’d promised him at the White House for not punching President Custer had quickly turned into a number of them and all given joyously and passionately. She found herself worried sick that he might not return from the war or that he might be terribly maimed. She recalled helping her father operate on a man who’d lost his legs in a train accident. That such horrible wounds could happen to Martin as well, would soon be a terrifying reality.
She had not given herself to him nor would she, at least not yet. However, she thought it was time to permit just a few liberties that would let him know just how much she cared for him.
Sarah smiled to herself. One nice thing about being a widow, she thought, was that she now knew so much about what pleased a man.
* * *
Maria Vasquez peered through one of the small gaps in the rough wooden stockade that kept her a prisoner. She was twenty-five and a widow. Her husband had been killed by a Spanish firing squad. They thought he’d been a guerilla. He hadn’t been but Maria was now. She had worked hard for the revolution, carrying messages and supplies. Even though she never carried a gun, she still could have been executed. It was ironic that she had been condemned to spend God knows how long in the prison camp because she had protested the lack of food that had claimed the life of her small son. Then she had been hungry. Now she was close to starving.
Some of the gaps were wide enough for her to stick her hand through and beg for food. Sometimes she actually got some from sympathetic Cubans. They were careful, though. They didn’t want to attract attention and wind up in the camp themselves.
Several priests routinely passed out charity along with a few civilians. In particular, an old man named Luis would bring her pieces of cheese and chunks of stale bread. She could not count on Luis, however. He was old and scrawny. He would talk to her in a respectful manner and she loved him for that. He had a shoe repair shop a mile from the camp. She knew where it was and he had told her to run to it if she could ever escape from the hell she was in.
Maria was afraid that she would spend the rest of her life in the camp. People came in but the only ones who left were carried out as cadavers. She could see happy people walking by the camp and a number of wealthy men and women riding in carriages. She had never seen a zoo, but she knew what one was. To the rich Spaniards, she and the others were little more than animals in a zoo. Somewhere, life was normal. Just not here.
Luis was not the only man in her life. One of the guards, a heavyset man named Ramon, had made it plain to her that she would have a much better life if only she would become his mistress or at least let him fuck her every now and then. His comments told her that she was still reasonably attractive. She was not light-skinned like a Spaniard or dark like a Negro. She was somewhere in between and she knew that men found her color fascinating. As a child she’d asked her mother whether she was Mexican, Indian, or Negro and her mother had laughed and said everything.
A lot of the women in the camp had succumbed to Ramon and other guards. So far, she had not given in, although every day in the camp made it more and more difficult. At least what Ramon wanted was straightforward. There were two other guards who took great delight in watching the women relieve themselves in the disgusting latrine trenches. She and some of the others shuddered at what they might want to do with a woman.
By telling her he would provide a place of refuge, Luis had given her the germ of an idea. Even though the thought of it disgusted her, she would use Ramon’s lust to gain her freedom. She turned away from the stockade and went to her sleeping mat. The old woman who had been sleeping beside her had died during the night, which was a further shame. For the last few days, when the woman had slipped into a coma and death was inevitable, Maria had been using her food ticket. The thought that she was depriving the old woman of a little nutrition disturbed her only a little. The woman was unconscious and dying. Perhaps a doctor could have fed her and saved her, but there were no doctors available.
Maria made up her mind. She walked over to the guard shack. It was by one of the several gates that led to the outside world. Ramon saw her and smiled. She gestured for him to come closer.
“You win,” she said. “I want food. You can have me tonight and any other night if you will keep getting me food. And yes, I will do whatever you want, but for you and you alone.”
Ramon grinned hugely. “Come into the shack and we’ll close the deal.”
She smiled, hoping it was warm and seductive. “No. I am not a street whore who will do it standing up in that shack. And I will certainly not do it where people can see. You will find us privacy. I will come tonight when it’s dark and you will take me out of this stockade and into the fresh air. Bring a blanket and we will do it on the ground where no one can see us, and you can have me as often and any way you wish.”
Before he could answer, she undid the strings on her blouse and exposed her breasts. They were still full enough to make his eyes widen. “All right,” he stammered and she almost laughed in his face.
* * *
It was dark when she made it to the guard shack. Ramon was waiting and he took her by the arm and through the gate. True to his word, he had found a secluded spot. Another guard, Carlos, was watching to make sure that no officer came and interrupted their fun. She sucked in the clearer air of the world outside the prison. She would not go back to the camp alive.
Ramon turned her and kissed her on the lips. He was aroused and in a rush. “Slowly,” she said. “Take off your shirt and kneel on the blanket. You can watch me.”
He did as he was told. He had even taken steps to clean up. He didn’t smell quite as bad as he normally did. She glanced around for a package of anything resembling food. There was nothing and she was convinced that he was not going to pay her and would even force her to service the other guard, Carlos.
Ramon saw her looking. “Don’t worry, Carlos will bring the bag of food when we’re done. Now it is your turn.”
She forced a smile and again exposed her breasts. She guided his mouth onto them and made pretend sounds of pleasure. She pushed him on his back and climbed on to his chest. “Close your eyes,” she said and he complied.
She took the small sand-filled sack from behind her waist. She wished she had a knife, but the sand would have to do. She whipped the sack quickly and smashed it against the side of Ramon’s head, just as he opened his eyes to see what was happening. The thud made by the sack’s contact with Ramon’s skull was sickening. His eyes widened for a second and rolled back into his head. She checked for a pulse. There wasn’t one. She had just killed a man and she wanted to throw up, but there wasn’t time.
Maria dressed quickly. In a few minutes Carlos would become curious, wondering how soon his turn would come, and check on them. She tucked the sack back in her waistband.
She smiled as thunder rumbled and it started to rain heavily. The sudden shower masked her dash across the road and into the streets of Havana. She ran down the streets to where Luis had his shop. She was about to pound on the door when she saw him looking at her through the glassless window. “It’s about time,” he said as he let her in.
* * *
Maximo Gomez was sick of war. Gomez had been born in the Dominican Republic in 1836. He had been converted to the cause of Cuban independence shortly after his arrival in 1868. Prior to that he had served as an officer in the Spanish Army and was now a major general in the Cuban rebel forces. His unfulfilled goal was to drive the Spanish out of Cuba.
Unless the military situation changed dramatically, this would not happen anytime soon. There was a truce in effect between the Spanish and the rebel governments that was based on mutual exhaustion. Unless the balance of power changed, nothing decisive would occur.
Gomez greeted his guest at his headquarters outside the city of Camaguay, which was located east of the middle of the island. His guest was Jose Marti, the young firebrand who was considered by many to be the soul of the revolution. Gomez was not so certain. Yes, the well-educated and highly articulate Marti attracted many followers, but they were not always fighters. Marti himself had never been in battle, while Gomez had seen many, perhaps too many. He fully understood the weaknesses of his rebel army. They had few weapons and precious little ammunition. They also lacked discipline. The only weapon they were skilled in was the machete and he’d ordered them to use it as effectively as possible. On several occasions, hordes of Cubans wielding machetes had panicked Spanish regulars, letting the rebels swarm their ranks, hacking and chopping.
“Will the Americans fight for us?” Gomez bluntly asked as he twisted his trade-mark handlebar mustache.
Marti shook his head. “The Americans will fight for themselves. If we are useful, then they will support us. Our friend Cardanzo spoke with their secretary of state and it is his impression that President Custer’s government would like to drive Spain out of Cuba and annex it themselves. Their Secretary Blaine hinted at Cuba being the foundation of an overseas American empire.”
“Then why should we help them?”
“Custer and Blaine do not necessarily have the support of their Congress in this endeavor. There are many in that body who do not want to acquire any territory outside America’s continental boundaries. There was concern when the U.S. bought Alaska from the Russians and that was only fifteen years ago. Nothing has changed. Custer and Blaine have gotten their war and it is likely that they will expel the Spaniards, but it is not certain that they will replace them permanently.”
Gomez nodded. “Then you’re saying we should fight on the side of the United States and gain their undying gratitude.”
“Yes, General. It will definitely strengthen our hand with their Congress if we are perceived as the brave independence fighters. Actually, General, we don’t have much of a choice. I do not see us standing aside while two powers fight over Cuba. Nor do I see us fighting for Spain to keep the Americans out. Even if we exchange Spanish sovereignty for American, I do not think it would be for very long. Besides, the Americans would definitely be the more gentle overlords.”
Gomez snarled. “I do not want any foreign overlords in Cuba. But you’re right. We must be pragmatic. Yes, my forces will ally with the Americans if and when they arrive. May I assume that you will be active in Washington instead of here in Cuba?”
Marti smiled and ignored the implied slur on his lack of military experience. “I will do what I do best and that is to be an advocate for a free Cuba.”