Fires had begun on his first and doubtless only command. Blondell hoped that his tormenter could see that he was abandoning her and no longer represented a threat.
If she ever had been, he thought angrily.
Blondell made sure everyone alive was off the ship before climbing down the short distance to a lifeboat. It was jammed with men and he sniffed when he saw that George Armstrong Custer was one of them. Idiot, he thought. Why the devil hadn’t he been among the dead?
“What now, Captain Blondell?” Custer asked.
I think I’ll throw you overboard, that’s what’s now, Blondell thought. “What we are going to do, President Custer, is float around until dawn and then hope and pray that we are found by an American ship and not by a Spaniard.”
* * *
With the sea largely illuminated by the false dawn, Cisneros was able to see that the American warships had departed. He concluded that they were doubtless chasing the Spanish cruisers that were trying desperately to escape. The Americans had positioned their ships to prevent an escape to the east, towards Matanzas, where they might bombard the army. This left an opportunity to race west and possibly escape by hiding in the many coves and inlets that nature had carved out of the Cuban shore.
The light also showed the wreckage of several of his ad hoc flotilla that hadn’t made it back to Havana. With the Yanks gone, Cisneros determined to search for survivors and rescue them before the sharks could assault them. He felt it was the least he could do for the brave souls he’d had the honor to lead.
Floating debris was plentiful, as were the pitiful remains of some of his little flotilla’s sailors. He was just about to return to Havana when a lookout spied what looked like two lifeboats lashed together and riding low in the water. They steamed slowly and carefully in that direction. They were farther from shore than Cisneros would have liked and, even though none of the American warships were currently in view, they could return at any time.
Fortune smiled on him and the men in the boats. Better, as he pulled the Duero alongside, he could see that the dozen men staring at him with expressions ranging between apathy, fear, and anger, were all Americans. He exulted. This meant that the fighting hadn’t been all one-sided. A scout ship from Havana told him he’d already been commended for his brave efforts in attacking the American fleet, and now he’d be bringing in a handful of American prisoners. Quite likely the Americans had come from that ship he had fired on during the night. Perhaps another commendation would be in order and, just perhaps, another promotion would no longer be such an impossibility.
The Americans were pulled out of their floundering boats and, while armed guards watched, their hands and feet were bound. He would take no chances on their trying to take over his ship. They would fail, of course, but some of his men might die in the attempt. He had to make haste. The Americans could return at any moment. His lookouts were scanning the horizon for any telltale signs of smoke.
As they approached the entrance to Havana’s harbor and safety, Cisneros asked if any of the prisoners was the captain.
“I am, or was,” responded a plump man. “I am Commander William Blondell, captain of the United States Navy Auxiliary Cruiser Dolphin. As we are your prisoners, I would like to remind you that you are required to treat us in accordance with the Geneva Convention.”
Cisneros bristled at the slur on his honor. “I am well aware of my obligations according to the Convention, and I assure you that no harm will come to you. You will be taken to Havana and held until either exchanged or the war ends.”
Blondell and the others appeared to understand. One man with long and graying blond hair, however, seemed confused. Perhaps he’d been hit on the head, Cisneros thought. Then he had another thought that jarred him. The man looked so very familiar. It dawned on him and he grinned from ear to ear. The promotion would be his.
He walked over and shook the man’s hand. “Welcome to Spanish Cuba, President Custer.”
◆ Chapter 14 ◆
It had commenced raining heavily again, turning the ground into a quagmire. Both Ryder and Benteen were covered with mud from their knees down. “Is the weather better up there on Mount Haney?” General Benteen asked.
Ryder sipped some coffee and didn’t grimace. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. It was strong and very hot, and that’s what counted. “Sadly, no. Most of the men feel we’re just that much closer to the rain clouds.”
“What a wonderful vision. At any rate, Ryder, we’re not here to discuss the weather. I did discuss your thoughts with General Miles and, to put it bluntly, he totally disagrees with what Captain Lang found and what you believe. I disagreed with Miles and let’s just say we had a very spirited discussion on the matter. He is convinced that any Spanish attack will consist of another assault on your position or on the entrance to the bay, or even both. He told me it didn’t really matter since he didn’t think the Spanish have the stomach for another attack on anything, at least not for a long while. When I suggested that we should attack since the Spaniards are such weaklings, I thought he’d throw me out of his office.”
Ryder was puzzled. “I thought that Miles’ meeting with Custer had resulted in his agreeing to attack?”
“So did I, but he’s apparently having second thoughts with Custer on his way back to Florida, which is another concern. He was supposed to go to Key West and then to St. Augustine, and there’s been no report of his arrival. He should have gotten there by now. One of our gunboat captains reported that he thought he saw the president’s ship heading north towards Havana. Going off on a run like that would be just like Custer. He was always too impetuous for his own good.”
“And it would be dangerous,” added Ryder. They had just gotten reports that the Spanish Navy had tried to escape from Havana and that there had been a major naval battle. Reports were inconclusive, but it did seem that several vessels had been sunk. “Christ, what if the president had been swept up in that mess?”
Benteen grimaced. “If Custer’s dead it means that Chester A. Arthur is now the President of the United States. If Custer is missing or a prisoner, I don’t know what the hell happens next. Jesus, what a mess.”
* * *
Governor-General Villate looked with delight on the blanket-covered man who slept soundly. If he’d been a cat, the general thought, he would have purred.
The man below him seemed unaware that he was chained to the cot. Villate coughed loudly and the man stirred. He winced with pain. The doctors said his ankle was badly sprained and his body was covered with cuts and bruises.
Villate smiled. “Good afternoon, President Custer. May I cordially welcome you to Cuba?”
Custer glared at him. “You may cordially go to hell. You may also remove these goddamn chains. Where do you think I’d run with a bad ankle?”
“We’ll talk about removing your shackles later,” Villate responded coldly. “In the meantime, you are my prisoner and I will treat with you in any manner I wish.”
“As long as it is in accordance with the Geneva Convention,” said British Consul Redford Dunfield. To Villate’s dismay, he’d again shown up to interfere with Villate’s pleasure. Dunfield then introduced himself to Custer, who grunted and nodded.
Dunfield smiled and continued. “I don’t think I have to remind you that President Custer is the head of the United States government and must be treated in accordance with his rank.”
Villate laughed. The situation was still too priceless for him to get really angry. “When we hang him, I promise to use a new rope.”
Dunfield was mildly amused as well. Custer was not. Dunfield could see a flicker of concern. Would the Spanish truly consider hanging him? The thought clearly concerned him.
Villate continued. “You may not like the arrangements,” he said to Dunfield, “but I am not going to put him in a position where his countrymen might try to free him. As you see, he is in a private cell here in the Morro Castle. Rescuing him would be a fruitless and costly endeavor. Besides,
we would kill him to prevent that from happening.”
“It would not be necessary to keep him here. If you continue to do so, you will risk the anger of the international community. Heads of state are kept in far better circumstances than this. I can guarantee you that Her Majesty’s government will not be happy if this situation continues.”
“He needs medical help,” Villate said, exaggerating Custer’s condition. He was conscious that he was about to lose another argument with the damned Englishman. “What do you propose?” he asked resignedly.
“I have an estate on the outskirts of town. You know it and you’ve been there. It’s practically a fortress. I propose that General Custer be moved there and protected, guarded if you will, by a good battalion of your finest and most loyal troops. I further propose that photographs be taken of the president showing that he is being well kept, and that he be able to communicate with his government.”
“Perhaps he will ask them to surrender,” Villate sneered.
“The hell I will,” said Custer, “and quit talking around me.”
“Again, kindly recall that you are a prisoner,” said Villate. An idea had formed and he loved the thought of it. “We will announce to the world that we hold you and that you require medical attention. This will mean that you will remain here for at least a couple of days until we can make arrangements to move you to Señor Dunfield’s estate. Except for proving your existence and relative well-being, you will remain incommunicado.”
Custer’s eyes burned with anger. “Bastard.” Villate laughed again.
* * *
The news hit the American forces at Matanzas like a thunderbolt. They got the telegram from Florida at almost the same time that the Spanish soldiers did. These began celebrating wildly, cheering and firing their weapons into the air. Some actually had fireworks and sent rockets into the air.
“The dumb son of a bitch has gone and done it again,” said General Benteen. “Jesus Christ, what the hell kind of mess has Custer gotten him and us into now? And do the damn Spaniards expect us to surrender?”
Ryder decided to remain silent. He’d been down again from the hill for yet another meeting and had found the time for a few moments of delicious privacy with Sarah. He was aware that his lips were bruised from the intensity of their kisses and that his uniform was rumpled. He didn’t give a damn and it was obvious that Custer’s fate was far more important than his being disheveled.
Benteen continued. “On the other hand, some might view this as an opportunity. Who knows what the powers in Washington will decide on as a course of action? My guess is that they will do absolutely nothing for the short term.”
“That would be my guess as well,” Ryder said. “Have we heard anything from the Spanish as to what they might want for Custer’s return?”
“Not a peep. Although I would guess that they would insist on our leaving Cuba as one condition, which won’t happen. That would be the same as admitting defeat. We would never be able to field an army to invade Cuba again. Ryder, what’s your sense of the morale of the troops?”
Ryder shrugged. “I haven’t had all that much time to talk with people, but my immediate sense is that of confusion. Everybody’s wondering just how the hell did the president manage to get captured at sea when everybody says we rule the waves? I have heard a couple of voices say that we might be better off with new leadership and that a new leader might replace General Miles.”
Benteen grinned wickedly. “I’ll forget you said that.”
“Much appreciated. Otherwise, I have the feeling that the men will survive quite nicely without President Custer and that they’d like to get this war over. Do you think the Spanish will want to work out an exchange for him?”
Benteen guffawed. “Exchange him for what? We won’t have to do that. I’ve got this feeling that the Spaniards will throw him back after putting up with him for a few months.”
* * *
Juana kissed her good friend Mercedes de Milan on her heavily rouged cheeks. The older woman gave her a warm hug in return. “How are things with your lover in my little cottage?” the sixty-year-old widow asked.
“Amazingly well, thank you. I have never known such happiness. I almost don’t know what to do about it.”
“Then enjoy yourself as I have enjoyed all of my lovers.”
“And how many have there been, dear Mercedes?”
She waved her hand. “Too many to count and I’ve enjoyed them all, including the one lover I have now. I will not name him because you might be shocked.”
“You don’t fear discovery?”
“I used to, of course, but not much anymore. I am a widow and I can pretty much do what I want. You, on the other hand, are married to a man who, while a fool and a brute, might be a dangerous fool and an even more dangerous brute. But don’t let danger hold you back. Even if you cuckold your husband, the worst he could do is beat you and divorce you and then you would be free. I am also protected by my bodyguards who are very loyal. You’ve met my chief guard, haven’t you?”
Juana smiled and nodded. Hector Rojas was a giant of a man who worshipped Mercedes. Rumors said that Rojas had killed many times in his life. She wondered if Hector ever shared Mercedes’ bed.
Mercedes reached over and handed Juana a cigarillo. The two women enjoyed a few puffs of the expensive tobacco before Mercedes continued. “Danger makes love affairs even more splendid. I remember one time when I was seated on a raised wooden bench in a stadium watching some dismal musical performance in a very dark night. I was about to doze off when I felt the light pressure of someone caressing my inner calf.”
Juana laughed, “Oh my.”
“Oh my, indeed. I truly didn’t know what to do as his hand delicately slid its way up my calf to my thigh and then to that wonderful soft spot that men love so much. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he gently and exquisitely manipulated me and totally aroused me. A couple of times I groaned and my aunt looked at me curiously. I gestured that I was having some trouble with my stomach and she let it go. The erotic game lasted quite some time and, finally, I felt him slide one of my garters down. And then he disappeared. At least I hoped the bold rogue was a he.”
Juana was almost convulsing with laughter. “Well, was it a he?”
“Yes,” said Mercedes, smiling at the memory. “The next day, a handsome young man I didn’t know came to me with a package. It contained my garter and he cheerfully admitted to both fondling me and removing it. I rewarded him by taking him into my boudoir and insisting that he put it on my leg, but not until that was all I was wearing.”
“How wonderful.”
“Not really. It turned out that he was much more facile with his hands than with any other part of his body. But it was an exciting few weeks until I grew tired of him. That was some years ago and the poor dear is back in Spain and doubtless growing fat. But hearing me talk is not why you came to see me, is it? What do you and your American lover want that I can provide?”
“He would like access to Custer for the purpose of doing an interview. I’ve known that your current lover is Mr. Dunfield, the British Consul, and since President Custer will soon be ensconced at Mr. Dunfield’s villa, James and I thought it could be something that you would be able to arrange.”
Mercedes was mildly surprised that her secret was no secret at all. She laughed again, “Why not?”
* * *
“Well, am I now the President of the United States or not?”
The question came from Chester A. Arthur, the stocky fifty-three-year-old Vice President of the United States. According to the Constitution, he was the man next in line for the presidency on the death of the president. The question he asked was one that no one was quite ready to answer. While the death of a president was covered and understood, the question of a president being incapacitated because he was a prisoner of war was not. Presidential incapacity for various reasons had caused confusion in the past and was doing so now.
“My
husband is still alive and as long as he breathes, he is the president,” Libbie Custer practically snarled.
The others in the president’s office simply looked away at the outburst. Arthur, however, was not deterred.
“Madam, as much as I sympathize with your predicament, I must remind you that you have no official position in this matter or, for that matter, at this meeting. You are here as a courtesy. I must also remind you that the government of the United States must continue to run, and that is why we have met here today. The idea of President Custer being shackled in Havana is repugnant, but it is occurring and we can do nothing about it. Your husband may be helpless but we must not be. We haven’t that luxury.”
A tear trickled down Libbie Custer’s cheek. Word had reached them that photographs of President Custer, in chains and in a cell, had made it to Key West and were on their way north. That they would appear in newspapers throughout the world was understood. Custer’s shame had become America’s shame.
“I do wonder just how he managed to get himself captured,” said Arthur. “There are so many conflicting stories.”
“And all of them are irrelevant to the situation,” said Secretary of State Blaine. “Congress can investigate to its heart’s content when this war is over and crucify those responsible, but, as you said, Mr. Arthur, we have a country and a war to run.”
“What about getting my husband back?” Libbie stood and practically shrieked.
“I’m sorry,” said Blaine as she sat down, “but we’ve heard nothing from the Spanish regarding a reasonable price to pay for him. All we’ve heard are rumors that would involve our leaving Cuba and signing a treaty in which we would promise never to invade again. We would also agree to pay Spain an enormous financial indemnity. I must add that we have no leverage whatsoever.”
“And that can never happen,” added Arthur. “It would be a humiliation almost too great for our nation and our party to bear, which is why we must decide just who is running the country in Custer’s absence and continue on with the war. I have taken the liberty of checking with Chief Justice Fuller and he is of the opinion that the Constitution does not really cover this sort of exigency. He does feel that naming an acting president for the duration of the emergency would be appropriate. And obviously, that acting president would be me.”
1882: Custer in Chains Page 24
