Wind of Destiny

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘It’s not our business to wage war on helpless civilians,’ Roosevelt insisted.

  Shafter sighed. ‘I guess you’re right, Mr Roosevelt. All right, gentlemen, we’ll let the civilians out, and provide them with an escort as far as Camaguey, and then start shooting in earnest. But you … ’ he pointed at Joe. ‘You got me into this God damned mess. I’m making you responsible for their lives. Take a company of men and see that they reach that railroad.’

  Joe raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ll have to arrange that with Admiral Sampson, sir,’ he said.

  ‘I intend to do that. Now gentlemen, let’s get to it.’

  Another flag of truce was sent into the city, and die exodus was arranged for two days hence. Linares wired Havana and arranged for special trains and an escort to be waiting at Camaguey, and allowed his own rolling stock, such as it was, to leave the city and be placed at the American’s disposal for the first stage of the journey north. Shafter assigned a company of soldiers, as he had promised, mounted on mules, to escort the women and children through the guerrilla lines. The commissariat was ransacked to provide an estimated five thousand extra rations for twenty-four hours, and Joe rode back into the hills to tell the guerrillas what was happening, and that they would have to play their part in feeding the refugees.

  ‘Feed that scum?’ Rafael demanded, aggressive as ever. ‘They all deserve to be hanged.’

  ‘I am giving you General Shafter’s orders,’ Joe told him. ‘And I think you want to remember, if you really hope to be elected president of Cuba one day, that these are your own people we are talking about.’

  ‘Of course we’ll help in any way we can,’ Toni said. ‘Won’t we, Pedro?’

  ‘It is not their fault they were kept in Santiago by Linares,’ Garcia agreed. ‘Of course, if any guilty men try to leave with them … ’

  ‘They will be arrested and tried,’ Joe told him. ‘By due process of law.’

  Garcia nodded. ‘We will see to that.’

  *

  Joe, and Captain Wrigley, with the company of Rough Riders, sat their mounts to the north of the city as the trek began, at dawn, two days later. A large white flag flew above the company of Spanish soldiers who escorted the civilians out of the city and beyond the fortifications, where the train was waiting. This was loaded, and sent off, escorted by twenty-five Rough Riders, but of course there were far too few places for the three thousand who had chosen to leave Santiago, and the rest would have to walk.

  Joe wondered if they would all make it. Here were women, some with babes in their arms, nearly all with children of varying ages clutching their skirts, and also clutching pitiful bundles of treasured possessions, all they had been allowed to take. All were thin and emaciated, to indicate just how bad conditions were inside the city. Clearly they had suffered very nearly as much as the women in the concentration camps, and Joe’s heart went out to them.

  There were men, too, mostly very old or just boys — all the able-bodied men had been conscripted into the army — stumbling along, wearing their best suits, watch chains glinting in the morning sunlight, casting anxious glances at the horsemen who watched them, and even more at the guerrillas who also lined the path, for the Cubans had come down from the hills in greater numbers than ever before to see their enemies march out. Garcia was there, as well as Rafael, and Jack Lisle and Toni. Christina had predictably remained at Obrigar. She had no wish to be a part of this struggle any more, however much she still wanted her revenge on the man who had tormented her.

  Slowly the column, shuffling, raising dust into the still July air, made their way along the railway track, the train having vanished into the distance. Few words were spoken, the noise was mainly that of dogs barking or babies wailing, and these were largely submerged beneath the shuffling of feet.

  Then suddenly Rafael shouted, ‘Lumbrera!’

  Joe stiffened in his saddle, and looked in the direction of Rafael’s pointing finger. Lumbrera? His first reaction was that it could not be. That was a little old woman … who wore boots, and a wig, which the colonel was now taking off as he realised he had been seen, and he pushed people right and left as he attempted to break out of the column. But he had no chance of escaping. The guerrillas surrounded him, and he was seized and dragged to the side of the road.

  ‘Lumbrera,’ Rafael breathed. The man who raped my sister. And my wife. Well, well, Colonel, what have you to say?’

  Lumbrera gasped for breath. He had shaved off his moustache, and his face was curiously naked, while it worked horribly in his fear. He looked at Toni. ‘Mercy, sweet senora,’ he cried. ‘Oh, mercy. You will remember … ’

  Toni hit him across the face with the stick she carried.

  Lumbrera’s head jerked, and blood trickled down his chin, mingling with the tears streaming from his eyes.

  ‘Ha ha,’ Rafael shouted. ‘Now, do you know what we are going to do with you, Colonel? We are going to cut off your balls and make you eat them. Then we are going to stuff a lighted candle up your ass. And then we are going to hang you, slowly, oh, very slowly, with your toes always just touching the ground. How about that, eh?’

  Lumbrera fell to his knees. But Joe had by now reached the group by the side of the road. ‘Colonel Lumbrera,’ he said. ‘You are under arrest.’

  Lumbrera wept with relief.

  ‘Arrest?’ Toni shouted. ‘Him?’

  ‘He’s sure as hell not going to be lynched,’ Joe told her. ‘And you should be ashamed of yourself.’

  She stared at him, angrily for a moment, and then her shoulders sagged. ‘I guess I’m ashamed of all of us,’ she said. ‘But the sight of him … ’

  ‘He must die, and he must scream for mercy,’ Rafael said. ‘I want to hear him scream.’

  ‘He will be tried by a court of law,’ Joe said dismounting, and signalling the four cowboys who had accompanied him. ‘Tie his wrists.’

  Lumbrera held out his arms.

  ‘You have no business to interfere in this,’ Rafael said in a low voice. ‘This man raped my sister. Your future wife. And you will give him justice? If you have not the stomach to be a man, take your people away, and we will deal with the matter.’

  ‘And if you lynch him, you will be lowering yourself to his level,’ Joe told him. ‘He comes with me. That’s what this war is all about: justice. For every human being on this island.’

  Rafael stared at him for several seconds, and then turned away. Joe turned away as well, to watch Lumbrera being secured by the Rough Riders.

  ‘Look out,’ Toni screamed.

  Joe swung back in time to see Rafael drawing his revolver. Before he could do anything, Rafael had levelled the gun and shot Lumbrera three times in the lower abdomen.

  The policeman gave a shriek of pain and collapsed in a heap on the ground, moaning and writhing.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Toni muttered.

  Joe was white with anger. ‘Arrest that man,’ he snapped.

  The Rough Riders stepped forward, and Rafael stepped back, his gun still levelled. ‘I have executed a criminal,’ he said.

  Joe looked at Lumbrera, who was clearly dying, as blood and guts poured from the terrible wound in his belly. ‘You have committed murder,’ he said. ‘And are going to hang for it.’

  ‘Me? Hang? Are you out of your mind? I am Rafael Antonio Diaz Vasquez de Obrigar. I am the man who blew up the … ’ he checked himself as he realised what he had nearly let slip.

  ‘You did what?’ Joe asked, his voice sunk almost to a whisper.

  Rafael licked his lips, and backed away to where his horse waited; he knew he could not take on Joe as well as the four cowboys — and probably Jack Lisle as well. ‘I … it was necessary,’ he said. ‘Now you have seen how necessary it was. With America on our side we have won in three months. Before then we had been fighting for three years. Think of that.’

  ‘You are going to hang,’ Joe said again. ‘For the cold blooded murder of two hundred and sixty men. My men.’

&nbs
p; Rafael hesitated, then, as Joe stepped forward, he holstered his gun and leapt into the saddle, galloping off up the hill.

  ‘My horse,’ Joe snapped. One of the Rough Riders led it forward, and he mounted.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Lisle volunteered.

  Joe looked at him. ‘Did you know?’

  ‘We suspected,’ Toni said.

  And hadn’t he suspected? But that would not allay his anger, at knowing. ‘Well, you write down everything he told you,’ he said. ‘But I’ll take your rifle.’

  Toni gave him hers.

  ‘He’s a dangerous man,’ Lisle said.

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Joe looked at Toni. ‘If he won’t surrender, I am going to kill your husband.’

  She drew a long breath. ‘I know,’ she said.

  Joe urged his horse up the rise, and at the top looked down into the valley beyond. Here the trees clustered thickly; if it had ever been cultivated, it had been neglected for too long. It offered good concealment, and there was no sign of Rafael for a moment, then Joe saw some branches moving about half a mile away, and it was a windless morning. Rafael had very sensibly dismounted, but his fear was making him move, when had he kept still he might have avoided capture.

  Joe sighted the rifle. If rifle shooting was not an ordinary part of the training of a naval officer, he had always been a good shot, and invariably kept his hand in by hunting when on furlough. Now he sighted just ahead of the moving foliage and squeezed the trigger.

  Immediately there was a flurry of movement, and he heard the neigh of a horse. He fired again, and watched Rafael’s mount break away and go charging through the bushes. Joe urged his own horse down the slope and into the thickets, heaving branches to left and right as he advanced across the floor of the valley. He had covered more than half the distance to where Rafael had been when a shot rang out, ripping through the branches beside his head. Immediately he dismounted, releasing the horse as he knew, being an army mount, it would stay close no matter how many shots were fired — and Rafael had to have a horse if he intended to escape.

  He laid down the rifle, drew his revolver, and knelt, peering through the foliage.

  A few minutes later he heard rustling close at hand. ‘Joe?’ Rafael called. ‘Joe? This is senseless. We are related. We have been friends. And we are engaged in a common cause. Whatever I did was for Toni and Christina. To kill each other in the hour of victory would be a crime.’

  Joe made no reply, but his horse gave a snort. Rafael’s problem was that he didn’t know if Joe was with the horse or not.

  ‘Joe?’ he asked again, now very close. Joe watched his feet coming through the thick bushes, now only a few feet away. ‘Joe?’

  Joe stood up. ‘Drop the gun,’ he said. Rafael turned, quickly, his own weapon thrust forward, and Joe shot him through the chest.

  *

  They buried Rafael beside his father in the little cemetery above the burned out plantation house. Christina had said nothing when the body was brought in, and Joe, who had accompanied it, had said nothing either. Jack and Toni also stood silently by.

  Then they walked back down to the house, listening to the distant rumble of guns as the bombardment of Santiago commenced. And Joe knew that he belonged out there with the fleet, and that he could not keep silent any longer. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you if you’d like me to arrange a passage for you back to Long Island, Toni?’

  Toni shook her head. ‘When the shooting stops, I’d like to help Christina rebuild the plantation.’

  Christina turned her head, slowly. ‘Me?’

  ‘Well … you’re the last Diaz de Obrigar.’ ‘The plantation is yours,’ Christina said. ‘You are Rafael’s widow.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t. I mean … ’ She looked at Joe.

  ‘It is yours,’ Christina insisted. ‘And it will be very hard work. But there is still money invested in England. That is yours too. The lawyers will sort it out, when the fighting stops. You will still need help, though.’ She looked at Lisle.

  ‘Well, I’d like to hang around,’ Lisle said. ‘I have nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Oh, Jack,’ Toni cried, and threw her arms round him, then checked, just for a moment, as she remembered her dream, of how many centuries ago, it seemed.

  ‘You’ve had second thoughts,’ he said, with that twisted grin of his.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Oh, no. I was just thinking … life is a funny business, isn’t it?’

  ‘Then I’ll say goodbye,’ Joe said. ‘I must get back to my ship, and make a full report on this business to the admiral.’ He stood before Christina. ‘I’ll send you an allowance for the child. I … I meant to kill Rafael, Christina. I’m sorry. But that’s how I felt. I think I’d still feel that way, if he’d got away. So … ’ his shoulders rose and fell. ‘I guess you’ll want to think about things, some more.’

  She gazed at him, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears. ‘I am your woman,’ she said. ‘And I would like to be your wife. You are the father of my child.’

  ‘And Rafael? He killed Lumbrera, you know.’

  She sighed. ‘I am glad that Lumbrera is dead. But I believe he would have been hanged after his trial. I told you once that Rafael had become a bandit and a murderer. If you had not killed him, it would have been somebody else.’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. ‘Go win your war, Joe McGann. And come back. I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Because I love you.’

  *

  ‘You’ll have heard that Linares has surrendered,’ Admiral Sampson said.

  ‘I kind of gathered it from the fact that the guns have stopped,’ Joe said.

  ‘He didn’t last too long when we really opened up; the city is a mess. Now there’s a rumour that General Blanco wants to negotiate a surrender of all Cuba. He knows that without a fleet he hasn’t got a hope in hell. So it looks as if we could all be home for Thanksgiving.’

  Thanksgiving, Joe thought. With Ma and Pa. And Christina, on Long Island for the first time.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ the admiral went on. ‘Your promotion to captain has just come through. Congratulations.’

  ‘Heck, I wasn’t expecting that so soon,’ Joe said.

  ‘Well, you have two Spanish warships to your credit.’ Sampson grinned. ‘And anyway, you were next in line for promotion.’ Then he grew serious again. ‘Now, about this report concerning the death of Rafael Diaz de Obrigar. I’ve studied both yours and that of the man Lisle. Seems to me there’s no certainty that Diaz did blow up the Maine.’

  ‘He certainly thought he did. And he certainly meant to,’ Joe pointed out.

  ‘Maybe. But it seems to me that to let these get into the hands of the press, or even of Congress, which is virtually the same thing, could be a mistake. The whole nation wanted war, and they’d have found a cause sooner or later; I think we should let them go on believing they were fighting to help a bunch of heroic patriots, rather than a collection of ruthless thugs. So with your permission … ’ the admiral tore the two reports into strips, and dropped them into his gash basket. ‘We’ll just let things stand, that we believe the Maine was sunk by an external explosion, no matter what the Dons might say. Because I’m afraid there is one thing that is not going to change, no matter what happens now. This nation has tasted international power. It has flexed its muscles and realised just how strong those muscles are. There is going to be no turning back. To think of changing the course of history now would be as futile as to think we could stop the wind blowing by holding up our hands. From here on, we’re going to be in the forefront of affairs. As a navy man, I can’t feel that’s a bad thing, but I’d like our people, and ourselves, to go on believing that we’re a force for good in the world. Because that’s the only hope this world has.’ He shook hands. ‘Good luck with your wedding, Captain McGann. And … ’ his eyes twinkled. ‘Remember the Maine.’

  ‘And all honour to Spain,’ Joe said. He saluted and went outside, stood on the bridge of the N
ew York, and felt the evening breeze blowing in his face. He held up his hand with a wry grin — and the wind kept on blowing, not only against him, but against the five battleships which lay to either side, and all the smaller craft which made up this suddenly all powerful United States fleet.

  The Wind of Destiny, he thought. May it blow forever.

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