She looked over his shoulder, and he gave her a hasty smile. ‘What did you think of General Garcia?’ she asked.
‘I’d met him before, remember,’ Joe said. ‘He hasn’t changed. Just an overgrown bandit. And those men of his are incapable of carrying out any proper military operation, I would say. I reckon we’d be much better off without him, wherever we land. But that’s for General Miles to decide. Have you any idea what size is the garrison in Daiquiri?’
‘Maybe three hundred men.’
‘And in Santiago?’
‘Oh, I think there are several thousand there, if you include the outer forts. What did you think of his advice to land here in the south?’
‘To begin from the wrong end? That it is the wrong end. Sure I know you want to see Lumbrera strung up just as quickly as possible. So do I. But from a purely military point of view, it faces us with a campaign of five hundred miles of very rough country before we can even get close enough to invest Havana.’
‘Every day that Lumbrera remains alive is an affront to humanity,’ she said, continuing to lead him down the path. ‘And he is in Santiago. He has been returned to duty there.’
‘He isn’t going anywhere,’ he told her. ‘We’ll get Lumbrera, no matter where we land.’
‘We must,’ she said, seriously.
So then, did he seriously want to be married to a woman who had murder in her heart? But if she did not, in her circumstances, then she would be even more of a shell. Perhaps the death of Lumbrera might release her into life again.
Meanwhile, she was there and so was he, in the midst of a wrecked plantation, which made a nonsense of all the conventional manners and morals to which they had both been educated. It was, in a very real sense, four days spent in the garden of Eden, only there was not even a serpent to interfere with their happiness. His, anyway. They worked together, to gather the fruit and the vegetables and the eggs, they laughed and talked, for she was capable of at least a surface humour, and Manuela was a delightfully vivacious companion, happy only to be out of the internment camp.
She was a thoughtful young woman, too, and kept out of their way for considerable periods, showing no sign of resentment that the very real intimacy she had achieved with her erstwhile mistress had been so suddenly superseded. Or did she know that he could only be a temporary aberration?
Left to themselves, Joe and Christina bathed in the stream — she bathed several times every day, as if not all the water in the world could wash away the filth in which she had been immersed for too long — and made love whenever he felt like it, which was also several times a day, and lay together to stare at the summer sky, and watch the rippling clouds which came together to form rain squalls and then divided again just as suddenly to leave the sky a serene and scorching blue. They talked little, because there was nothing to say. Their lives were composed of the here and now. Then and soon had no place in their existence, because of the imponderables which lay in both directions. But the fact that she obviously enjoyed his company was at least reassuring. So presumably it could be said. Joe knew, that he was shamelessly taking advantage of a derelict woman — and perhaps he was. But he still intended to take her with him, and was counting the days to the appearance of Toni, even if it might also mean a confrontation with Rafael. And Jack Lisle? He did not know about Lisle. Christina never mentioned him, and neither had Garcia. Perhaps the Englishman had been killed.
It was on the fifth morning after he had come ashore that Manuela woke him. ‘Senor Joe,’ she said. ‘Come quick. Your ships are here, eh?’
‘My ships?’ He had no idea what she was talking about, as Cotter was not due for two more days. Perhaps Sampson was on his way back from Puerto Rico and had closed the Cuban coast. But he followed her up the hill to the cemetery, Christina hurrying behind, to look out over the first hills at the Caribbean Sea, and to watch the ships, in line ahead, and steaming very fast, both from their bow waves and the smoke streaming from their funnels, racing along the south Cuban coast. He frowned, because he did not recognise any of their profiles, even when viewed through his binoculars. Besides, the squadron consisted of four armoured cruisers, so far as he could see, accompanied by several smaller vessels, and they were steadily closing the shore, as if seeking a harbour. A harbour! And armoured cruisers! The United States Navy possessed only two. He snapped his fingers. ‘That is Cervera,’ he said. ‘The Spanish squadron has arrived.’
Chapter 14
Santiago — 1898
Christina clutched his arm, the first time she had involuntarily touched him. ‘What will you do?’
‘I must let Commander Schley know, at the very least,’ he said. ‘Our ships are widely dispersed. If those armoured cruisers were to catch us one at a time, it could be disastrous.’ He continued to level his glasses. The Spanish squadron was undoubtedly making for Santiago, probably to coal. If he could reach Schley and the American fleet could concentrate outside the harbour, the naval war was as good as won. Certainly the Spanish admiral would have to make a fight of it.
‘It is too soon for Toni to get here,’ Christina said.
Joe chewed his lip. But he simply could not delay any longer on a matter of personal interest. ‘My ship win not be back for two days,’ he said. ‘She might get here by then. But if she does not, I cannot wait for her.’
‘I know.’
He looked at her. ‘But you can come with me,’ he said.
She shook her head.
‘Christina … ’ he held her hands.
And felt her fingers close tightly on his. ‘You have a war to win,’ she said. ‘A war I want you to win. I cannot live until you have been victorious. I will stay here until that day. I am perfectly safe here. I have told you, no one troubles Manuela and I. Besides, in a day or so Toni will be here with us.’
He gazed into her eyes. ‘And when we have won this war, and I come back?’
‘And Lumbrera is hanged.’
‘Yes. And Lumbrera is hanged.’
‘Then you may have me, if you wish,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I will marry you, if you wish.’
‘Marry, me?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Because you pity me.’
‘Because I love you, Christina.’
She stared at him for several seconds. Then she said, ‘Win our war for us, Joseph McGann. And come back to me, and I shall marry you.’
*
The USS Dahlgren raced east for Cabo Cruz, all caution thrust aside. Waiting for her on the beach below Obrigar had been the longest two days of Joe’s life, because he had also been waiting for Toni. It had been a terrible thought, as he had watched Midshipman Lucas and the boat pulling through the reef towards him, that Toni might even then be on her way down from Garcia’s camp to join him. But he could risk delaying no longer, and he had left Christina to explain; he knew Toni would understand. And the operative thought was, that he had left Christina. To return to her, and make her his wife. A fierce exultation sang through his heart and mind as he stood beside the coxswain and watched the forts guarding Santiago drifting by to starboard. Cervera and his ships were still in there, he knew. It was his business to reach Schley and get the American ships assembled out here before the Spanish could refuel and put to sea again, perhaps to prey on American shipping, perhaps to bombard the US coastal towns — even New York and Long Island — or perhaps, his greatest fear, to seize and destroy isolated American warships.
Returning at full speed, he reached the blockading squadron off Havana in forty-eight hours, two long days of bone-shaking conditions, as the little Dahlgren appeared almost to be tearing herself to pieces. Then it was a matter of locating the armoured cruiser Brooklyn, in which Commander Schley flew his flag, and requesting permission to go on board. Schley was a big-jawed, big-nosed man, whose prominent features were leant additional strength by a handlebar moustache. He had a reputation for gruffness, and his mood was undoubtedly not improved by having been g
iven the role of second-in-command to his junior, Sampson. ‘Don’t give me any more rumours about Admiral Cervera, Mr McGann,’ he said. ‘I’ve been told he is in the Azores, in the Cape Verdes, in San Juan, Puerto Pico, outside Boston, shelling the Ambrose Light … all at the same time. I have had my ships racing up and down the Atlantic, looking for him. And now you say you think he is in Santiago de Cuba? What the hell for? That’s the last place he should be.’
‘I do not think he is in Santiago, sir,’ Joe said. ‘I saw him go in. As for why he went in, I would say to coal, having just crossed the Atlantic, which is not to say that having coaled, he will not put to sea again.’
‘And why Santiago instead of Havana, eh?’
‘Because, sir, he must know that Havana is blockaded. The telegraph between Havana and Madrid has not been cut.’
Which was absolutely true, although the telegraph cable went first of all to the United States before crossing the Atlantic to Europe; but then, it was useful to the Americans to know what messages General Blanco was sending home.
Schley stared at him for several seconds. ‘All right, Mr McGann,’ he said. ‘I will act on your information. But you had better be God damned right, because I haven’t the ships to blockade both Havana and Santiago at the same time, and if I go for Santiago, and Cervera puts into Havana while I’m away, I am going to have your balls for breakfast. Now you put your ship alongside one of those colliers over there and take on all the coal you can. I’m told you know the waters down there in the south. I may need you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Joe acknowledged. He could only hope that Cervera was indeed still in Santiago.
*
Four days later the Americans were in position, the battleships Texas and Massachusetts, the Brooklyn, and several light cruisers, amongst them die newly arrived St Paul, to Joe’s delight; she was commanded by Charles Sigsbee.
Once more the fleet was in a high state of anticipation and excitement. The business of blockading an enemy port was a deadly boring one. All the normal peacetime duties, the polishing and scrubbing and parading and watch-keeping had to be carried out, but without the alleviating prospect of putting into port and obtaining liberty. Petty discomforts became magnified, petty resentments burning issues. Punishment rosters grew, with men required to perform extra duties growing even more resentful. Joe, keenly aware that his own men had been very fortunate to have been given their special assignment, sometimes even wondered if the old fashioned punishment of flogging, so decided by humanitarians and thus discarded, had not in fact been the more humane, in that it was over and done within a matter of minutes, with the guilty man then receiving the sympathy of all, officers as well as comrades, rather than continuing his slow burning anger as he scrubbed decks hour after hour.
But now there was the real prospect of a fight, as it was quickly established that the Spanish squadron was still inside. He himself, in Dahlgren, accompanied by another torpedo boat, carried out a reconnaissance right into the mouth of the entrance, while the guns of Fort Morro blazed away ineffectively, and saw the masts of the big ships inside.
‘Well, then,’ Schley decided. ‘We’ll just blast them out of there.’
Which was a course Joe had recommended several years before. Now the battleships and cruisers opened fire, and soon the forts were replying, although only in a desultory fashion. It was a most spectacular sight, as the shells exploded on the cliff tops, against the many earthworks surrounding the harbour, sending clouds of mud and dust and stone high into the air. It seemed impossible that anyone could survive under such a blasting, and as the Spanish guns fell silent, the battle seemed won almost before it had started. Some of the newspaper correspondents who were with the fleet asked permission to board Dahlgren and take a closer look, certain that the Spanish defences had been utterly destroyed, especially as their guns had ceased replying. Schley was happy to give Joe permission to accommodate the press, for he was now considering the practicability of forcing an entry, as the Spanish were showing no signs of coming out. Joe was delighted with the assignment, as he steamed at full speed right up to the entrance without a shot being fired at his ship.
‘Lieutenant,’ said the man from the Herald. ‘I reckon you could take this here tin fish right through those narrows, and put a torpedo into Cervera’s flagship, and bring yourself back out again.’
Ensign Cotter looked at Joe, and Joe looked back at Ensign Cotter. Once again the temptation was there … and then all hell broke loose as the shore batteries resumed firing in unison. Fortunately their shooting was as wild as on the occasion of the duel with the torpedo boat the previous month, but it didn’t seem possible to escape this time. The correspondents threw themselves to the deck as Joe took the helm himself and wrestled the little ship to and fro while he attempted to wriggle through the fountains of spray to either side. ‘I guess we didn’t do as much damage as we thought,’ he reported to Schley, when he had safely regained the fleet. He was quite crestfallen to have so over-estimated the effects of a naval bombardment.
‘Well,’ the commodore said. ‘We’ll just have to try again.’
But another week’s constant bombardment produced no more results and left the American squadron short of ammunition; whenever a US ship approached the entrance, the Spanish guns, apparently blasted into silence only an hour before, opened fire and drove it back. At the end of that week the New York arrived on the scene, accompanied by the Iowa and the Indiana, returning from their equally fruitless bombardment of San Juan, which had accomplished nothing beyond establishing that Cervera was not there — which everyone by now knew anyway.
Sampson immediately called an officers’ conference, listened to Joe’s report, and congratulated him upon his successful battle with the Spanish torpedo boat. ‘And no casualties,’ he remarked. ‘That must have been damned good shooting. The real pity is that some of these correspondents weren’t with you then. Right now they’re reporting every exchange of fire as one hell of a battle, which we always win. Trouble is, the folks at home are soon going to start asking how come, if we are winning so many battles, we can’t win the war. Now, what about this recommendation by your friend Garcia that we should put the army ashore down the coast?’
Joe repeated what Garcia had told him, while Sampson stroked his beard. ‘I don’t know Miles will go for it,’ he commented when Joe was finished. ‘As you say, it’s one hell of a long way from Havana. On the other hand, if Cervera won’t come out no matter how many shells we lob over those hills, and we can’t do enough damage to their forts to force the entrance, well, the only way we have left is by a regular investment, and for that we’ll need troops. There seems no doubt to me that the decisive point in this war is right here. Once we’ve settled with Cervera, Cuba is ours, no matter how long it takes. If we don’t settle with him, we can’t proceed anyway.’ He looked around the tense faces. ‘Any comment on that?’
‘With respect, sir,’ someone said. ‘If we cannot force the Dons to come out and fight, might it not be possible to seal them up in there, so that they can’t come out, even when they want to. That would have the same effect as destroying them in battle.’
Every head turned to look at the young man. His name was Richmond Hobson, Joe knew, and he came from one of the old planting families in Alabama. He was regarded as something of a loner, who had made a name for himself at the Naval Academy at Annapolis by his strictness as a monitor. But he had also shown considerable ability in ship construction, so much so that he had been sent to France to study naval architecture, and even been returned to Annapolis as a lecturer in design. Indeed, he had been offered a job outside the Navy with the Cramps’ Shipbuilding Company, at a remarkable salary of ten thousand dollars a year, but had opted to remain with the navy. Quiet and good looking, he was still only twenty-eight years old, but that he was a man with a future no one doubted, and even the admiral was prepared to listen to him.
‘I think you should tell us what you have in mind, Mr Hobson,’ Samp
son said.
‘Well, sir, it seems to me that Santiago Harbour is just like a bottle, so if we were to put a stopper in the neck of the bottle, whatever is in there will have to stay put.’
‘By God,’ Sampson said. ‘A blockship.’ He looked at Joe. ‘You know Santiago, McGann. Is it practical?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Joe said, suddenly very excited, and wishing he had thought of it himself. ‘There is one point in the channel which is very narrow indeed. A ship sunk athwart of the passage there would render it impassable to anything but the smallest craft for a considerable time.’
‘Hm. Let’s have a look at that chart.’
The chart was unrolled on the table in front of him, and the officers gathered round, while Joe indicated the area between La Socapa and Santa Catalina, where there was hardly more than a hundred yards between the cliffs. ‘Sink a ship of say two hundred and fifty feet length broadside on there, and she’d act like a wall.’
‘Hm,’ Sampson commented. ‘That’s right beneath the forts. Think you can get her in that close?’
‘Well, sir … ’ Joe looked at Hobson; it was his baby.
‘I can, sir, ’ Hobson declared.
‘What ship do you have in mind?’
‘I was thinking of one of the colliers, sir.’ He grinned. ‘There’s one called the Merrimac. She’d be ideal. The perfect cork in the bottle.’
Wind of Destiny Page 32
