Then came the Spanish roadblock. With the unforgettable hornet-like buzzing of high-velocity Mauser rounds around their ears, accompanied by the mechanical death chant of a Spanish Maxim machine gun, any hesitation by Rivera and his friends ended. Thirty-four of them simply threw down their weapons and walked away.
Now deprived of his right flank, which was quickly exploited and turned by the Spanish, Major Barida lost one of his cannons and its ammunition and made a hasty exit from the battlefield into the jungle with the loyal majority of his unit. In the chaos of the moment, Zaldivar escaped his Cuban guards, only to be directly captured by Arce’s Spaniards.
Captain Mario Cano had been trying to rally the mutineers back to the Cuba Libré cause by appealing to their honor and patriotism, a trait in short supply among the non-Cuban mutineers. His audience, while appreciating his effort, nevertheless made haste in the opposite direction for Isabela. Cano found himself alone and surrounded by foes who knew the value of bringing in such an unusual prisoner. Colonel Arce wanted captured Cuban officers kept alive.
Cano drew his sword and pistol, unwilling to surrender. A Spanish sergeant shot him in the foot, and both his weapons dropped. The soldiers then rushed and subdued him.
The mutineers did not escape Spanish attention, either. When the enemy saw their opponents run, they did what I had wanted and planned for them to do at my battlefield—they chased them. This time there was no trap for the Spanish to enter, though, and unfortunately for the mutineers, the soldiers never called for them to surrender as they had the gallant Cano. They simply ran them down as they fled. Only twenty-one of the thirty-four deserters survived; proudly presented to Colonel Arce, who then gave a speech to his own men, saying the deserters were an example of the Cuban rebels’ cowardice. It mattered not that none of them were Cuban.
Rivera ended his account with a dejected expression, apparently expecting sympathy for his ordeal. His expectations weren’t fulfilled. My sympathy was reserved for Cano, Barida, and those who did not run.
Rork was with me to hear this confession. I didn’t have to see his smoldering eyes to know exactly his opinion of Sergeant Rivera and his cronies, or what to do with them. No one is more draconian toward a mutineer than a fellow resident of the gun deck who has not wavered in his duty. Normally I am of like mind, but our circumstances at that precise place and time were anything but normal. In the space of the next twenty hours, I expected hundreds more Spanish soldiers to descend upon us. Moral matters would have to be subordinated to survival.
Sergeant Julio Rivera still sat there expectantly. It was time to burst his bubble of hope.
“Thank you for your confession about being a traitor, Rivera. As senior commanding officer of this allied force, I order that you are hereby demoted to private and placed under arrest. So are all of your fellow traitors. I will hold a court-martial tomorrow at noon. It will end five minutes later, and the entire gang of traitors will be executed five minutes after that, just before we Americans get on our ships and leave Isabela. You disgust me.”
He was stunned, for I had been so friendly before. “Uh? What is a traitor? I do not know this word, sir.”
“It means coward. Cobarde, en español. That is what you are, un cobarde. Chief Rork, remove those chevrons from this coward.”
He nearly ripped Rivera’s arms off in the process, then removed his false hand, allowing his spike to glint in the sunlight.
By now Rivera fully realized his fate and began pleading. “Please, sir. I am not a soldier. I do not want to be a soldier. I am no good for it. Please, sir, do not kill me.”
My tone was as cold as a corpse. “Rivera, I owe you nothing.”
Spittle drooled as he desperately shrieked, “Please, sir. Anything, sir, I will do anything you want. I just want to go home to Mexico. I do not want to die here in this terrible place.”
I kept him in my gaze. “There is one way for your life to be spared. Be a man. Fight with us and shoot the Spanish when they attack. If you do it well, I will take you away with me from Cuba. If you do not—we will kill you.”
His relief was pathetic. “We will fight, sir. We will shoot the Spanish. Thank you, sir.”
“Chief Rork, take Rivera to the others and make sure he explains the situation to them correctly. Arm them with scavenged Spanish rifles and five rounds each, and put them in the center of the line, in front of the Colt machine gun. Kill them if they fail.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Rork as he jerked the man up and hauled him away.
54
Trust
Isabela, Cuba
Late Friday night
29 April 1898
I was roused out of a fitful sleep on the ground next to the machine gun by Rork shaking my shoulder. “Gonzart’s here, sir. The lad’s got news from General Lacret. Came down the river past the Spaniardos in a dinghy tonight, an’ methinks you need to hear him out right now.”
By the light of a dimmed lantern I saw Gonzart standing in rags, his face haggard, and his arms covered with cuts. He rendered a weary salute.
“General Lacret presents his congratulations on your victory over Arce the butcher, sir. I am very happy to report Major Barida made it to the general’s division with his guns and men. Both he and the general thank you for bringing the battalion safely ashore and getting them started inland. General Lacret also sends you a special request, sir.”
I gestured for him to sit. “And what is the request?”
“Spanish reinforcements are arriving for Arce by train from Havana. Regular infantry, not like Arce’s men. The general views this as a unique opportunity to crush the enemy between our two forces. This would send a strong signal to the people of Cuba, and to the Spanish leaders in Madrid.”
My pocket watch indicated the time was a little after eleven p.m. “Really?” I asked. “And how are we to accomplish that? We are not strong on land. I only have a few sailors on shore.”
“Yes, sir, but they are well armed and led. If you can hold the Spanish at Isabela until tomorrow afternoon, we can attack their rear and throw them into disarray. Units of the general’s division are assembling now, and will be marching toward Isabela tonight. Major Barida will lead the combined units. By the afternoon, they will be in position, ready to attack.”
“Raul, my orders were only to seize Isabela, land Barida’s battalion, and hold this place for three days so the battalion had a way to withdraw if they were defeated. As I told you before, the three days end tomorrow at noon. At that time, we leave and begin the blockade of the coast. With what you’ve told me, our mission is now completed and we can get under way right away. There is no reason for us to stay.”
“The general understands your naval orders, sir. However, based on my description of you, he expresses the opinion that a man of your experience in war will see this rare situation for what it is, a chance to end the war sooner by vanquishing the enemy here and now. Madrid will realize they must end the war before more American forces come to Cuba. He hopes you will seize the initiative, sir, on behalf of the allied warriors of the United States of America and the Republic of Cuba.”
I thought of Yeats and our other wounded sailors. There would be more if we stayed.
“I’m far too old to be swayed by glorious sentiments, Raul.”
“Then be swayed by the military logic, sir. This chance will not come again.”
“I doubt we could hold out for that long anyway. There will be hundreds of Spanish coming against us tomorrow.”
“General Lacret knows, sir. Outnumbered ten to one is the usual equation between the Free Cuban Army and the Spanish. But with determination and innovation, victory can come to those who are outnumbered. You have enough guns and ammunition to hold them off until Major Barida and the other units attack in the afternoon. This location is a very good one for defense. Together, we will have the enemy in a hopeless trap. T
hey will be forced to surrender.”
“What is the earliest time your forces can attack?”
“Early afternoon, sir.”
“Exactly when will they attack?”
“The general said one o’clock, sir.”
“Is that in Cuban time, or is it in real time? I operate on real time. I will not in any way sacrifice my men for vague promises.”
“Real time, yes. The general and the major fully understand your concerns about the timing, sir. You have their word of honor.”
“How will they know my answer?”
“I will go back up the river tonight in the little boat, sir. If I do not make it and they do not hear from me, they will still attack. Only if I get through to them and report your refusal to help, will they not attack. They trust you, sir.”
“I see. Give me a moment, Raul.”
He walked off into the dark and I turned to Rork. “Get Captain Southby here immediately.”
When Southby arrived, the three of us sat on the ground. I briefed Southby on Lacret’s request and asked for his candid opinion. He didn’t hold back.
“Don’t trust `em a bit, sir. Yes, they’re well intentioned and trying hard, but can they really deliver this attack? Is it worth it for us to violate our orders and get stuck here, relying on strangers? Our men’s lives are at risk. We were lucky today, but tomorrow will be different. When things go bad and our men die for no good reason, you will be the one to be blame, Commodore. No one will defend you. Those deaths will be a heavy burden for you to bear.”
“Valid points, James. But they are the same valid points in any war, anywhere, with any allies. The underlying question is always the same: is the potential gain probable or only possible. Even if it is probable, is it big enough to be worth the serious risk?”
Southby disagreed. “I still don’t like it, sir. What do you say, Rork?”
Rork glanced at me and I nodded to go ahead. “I need your true opinion, Rork.”
“Aye, sir. Well, you know me heart wants to trust `em, sir, but me head can’t. Aye, `tis well an’ true Major Barida’s got the gumption an’ brains, but what o’ the others in Lacret’s division? It’ll take far more than just a few Cuban units to turn the tide o’ battle if we stay an’ fight. It’ll take a thousand Cubans. It’ll take angry men with military skill, who want that victory more than they want life its ownself.”
“I agree, Rork. But what if the Free Cuban Army’s attack is substantial and successful, what would be the outcome?” I asked him.
He grudgingly agreed. “Then it’ll be the greatest bloody victory in the thirty-year struggle for Cuban independence, an’ might end the damned war, sir. An’ the Cubans’ll love us for what we did.”
“So . . . is that potential gain worth the risk?” I asked them both.
“No, sir, because it’s not probable,” decided Southby. “I still don’t trust them to be able to do what they say they’ll do.”
“The Captain’s right, sir,” concurred Rork. “Methinks General Lacret can’t get enough men here to do the deed by tomorrow, especially by one o’clock.”
“Thank you both. I appreciate your opinions. Come back in ten minutes and I’ll give you my decision.”
One thing was certain. If I did nothing, the war would drag on. How many Americans would die in Cuba? The U.S. Army was completely unprepared, from top to bottom. Used to fighting small bands of Indians on the Western plains, the army was ignorant of operating in the tropics, of landing on beaches from ships, of supplying expeditions, of everything it would be called upon to accomplish. It would be a slaughter to send badly supplied and ill-led troops into a foreign jungle against veteran Spanish soldiers.
And if I tried and failed? Did my professional humiliation even matter, when weighed against the loss of my men’s lives?
Probability versus possibility. It seemed to boil down to whether Lacret could get his men massed and ready to attack by one o’clock—twenty-five and a half hours from now.
I knew Lacret had four hundred men under Bandera within fifteen miles. They could make it to the Spanish rear area by sunrise, and therefore were a certain factor. So was Barida and his hundred forty men and three remaining field guns, somewhere near Sagua Grande. They were of minimal ability in a fight. That left Lacret’s other four hundred men, scattered in small detachments between Sagua Grande and Santa Clara, a radius of twenty to thirty miles from the battlefield.
Could they be assembled in time? If they all got word by sunrise, then moved at an average of two miles an hour, they could cover fourteen miles. The units farther away would not be at the battlefield until sunset. This meant Lacret would attack with six hundred men for certain, possibly eight hundred, with another hundred or so enroute.
The stars powdering the sky were beautiful, but mute—God wasn’t being obvious with his opinion on the matter. I was on my own on this one. I thought of José Martí and our many conversations about Cuba’s future, but his ghost didn’t help me either.
I called for Southby and Rork to return. I didn’t offer explanations. The time for debate was over. “I think it is worth the risk. We’ll stay two hours later than planned, until two p.m., then get under way. Call Gonzart over here and I’ll give him a message for Lacret. He needs to get back up the river to Lacret and Barida right away.”
They both knuckled their brows and said, “Aye, aye, sir.”
After Gonzart was briefed and headed back up the river, Woodgerd wandered over to me and sat down on a crate. He sat there, uncharacteristically reserved, looking out at the glow of the Spanish campfires in the distance.
“All right, out with it, Michael,” I said.
“Today was just the prelude, Peter. Tomorrow’s the grand finale. It’s gonna be close. Very close. You need to get some rest.” Then he got up and left me alone.
I lay back, but rest didn’t come. My mind couldn’t shut down.
55
The Cost of War
Isabela, Cuba
Friday night
29 April 1898
Gavin, his bloody arm in a sling, showed up a few minutes later. I nodded for him to sit and start his reports. He collapsed with a moan and began.
“Saw you awake, sir. Thought you’d want an update on the casualty list, sir. Total is still seven men shot and four hit by shrapnel. Three are seriously wounded and have been taken out to Norden. The others got patched up and are back in the line.”
He paused, then handed me a misshapen bugle with a bullet hole through it. “I’m keeping this for Yeats. The wound in the side of his face is through and through. Captain Bendel says he’ll make it, but the jaw is severely mangled. All five of Yeats’ men were hit. Two are wounded badly, but the others are able to shoot. Still, Commodore, with three men out of action, and another eight at half capacity, we’re stretched really thin, sir.”
I tried not to visualize Yeats’ face, and all the others’ faces. This was the time to sound confident. “Well, you’ve got fourteen new volunteers—those deserters will fight now.”
He reacted dubiously. “With respect, sir, they’ve already run away once. This isn’t even their country.”
“Yes, but now they’re far more scared of Chief Rork than the Spanish.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” he chuckled. “Request permission to ask a question the bluejackets’ve been asking me.”
“Go ahead, Mr. Gavin.”
“Thank you, sir. If the exile battalion is already inland with General Lacret, why loiter around here and get shot at?”
“Valid question. We’re staying until mid-afternoon because the Cuban Liberation Army is planning to attack the Spanish rear then. If they can do that, and we can hold our line at Isabela, the Spanish will be defeated. Such a victory could prove to Madrid the uselessness of continuing in Cuba. We have a chance to shorten the war and save a lot of American li
ves in the future.”
Gavin didn’t look convinced of the wisdom of that. “Thank you, sir. I’ll tell the men. When do you think the enemy will hit us again?”
“At dawn. They’ll be stronger and smarter than they were today. Keep everyone alert.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Gavin mouthed by rote, then trudged away to share the commodore’s morale speech with his men.
It was twelve-fifteen a.m., and going to be a very long night.
56
The Main Performance
Isabela, Cuba
Saturday morning at dawn
30 April 1898
The attack began in the diffused light, thirty minutes before the sun appeared on the horizon. It unfolded quietly and methodically—completely unlike Arce’s arrogant parade the previous day.
That told me that Arce, the despised thug who celebrated victories over defenseless civilians and hopelessly outnumbered rebels, but was humiliated by us the day before, wasn’t in charge anymore. I wished he still was, for Arce would’ve petulantly had his men blindly charge our positions.
Somewhere out there a true professional soldier had arrived and was in command of the Spanish forces, making calculated probes to ascertain our weaknesses.
We had a three man observation post in the northeastern corner of the cane field. They fired a couple of rounds at some advancing enemy soldiers and, per orders, ran back to our line.
At their signal, I nodded to Gavin, who passed the word back to the machine gunners. They in turn, sent a runner to the ship, where Southby gave the order to fire two pre-aimed rounds.
It may be recalled how Kestrel’s main six-pounder guns, both fore and aft, were masked from firing by a cane warehouse to her starboard. Thus, they could not target areas of the battlefield to the right of the road leading out of town. The forward gun could, however, hit the left-most edge of the battlefield, which included the northeastern corner of the cane field.
An Honorable War Page 26
