She also wondered just what kind of toys Ruth had brought back from Europe and precisely what they did. She decided she really wasn’t ready to find out.
* * *
Even though the nearly impoverished village was only a little more than a day’s walk from Havana, it took almost a week for news of the coming war with the United States to reach it. As soon as their work was done, the people gathered before the small church to discuss what it all meant. They had heard of the United States, but other than the name, knew nothing about it. Nor were they in the slightest bit thrilled at the thought of a new war. A truce had been called in the long and savage war of liberation between the rebels who wanted independence and the loyalists who wanted Spain to remain in control of Cuba.
The village did not have a name. It was nothing more than a cluster of several dozen huts and hovels and a small church large enough to hold the women and children. This was satisfactory since the men never went to mass anyhow, at least not before their own funerals. The road through it was little more than a dirt path.
Cuba was exhausted. Both sides had been bled and mauled. Rosita Garcia had lost two cousins in the blood-letting. She had always been afraid that her one son would be conscripted by one side or the other or, worse yet, foolishly volunteer to fight. So far he had resisted that temptation.
“What side are we going to be on,” asked one field worker.
“It doesn’t much matter,” answered one of his friends. “Whatever side we’re on will be the loser.”
Rosita thought she understood. Most of the people in the village sympathized with the rebels. Spain was a far off land that had mismanaged Cuba with cruelty and indifference. The rebels represented the future, but when would the future arrive. What would happen if the Yankees and Spain patched up their differences and there was no war after her village and thousands of others like it declared for independence? Why, it would be a bloodbath, she answered herself.
Two priests were present and they’d begun screaming at each other. One was pro-independence while the other felt that Spain ruled Cuba through the grace of God and Holy Mother Church, and that any act of defiance would be a grievous sin.
Others were more pragmatic. “Will we have enough to eat?” asked Rosita. “What will we do if either army comes in and takes what little food we have.”
“Then we will starve and die,” and old man said and grinned toothlessly.
Both priests agreed that the people should store and hide their food from whoever their oppressors might be.
“Will it ever end?” Rosita asked the priest who was pro-rebel. She could not recall his name.
“Only God knows.”
Rosita persisted. “We are so close to Havana. The armies will have to come this way, won’t they?”
The priest shook his head sadly and didn’t answer. It was all too obvious. The Cuban people wanted no part of any war between Spain and something called the United States of America. As usual, however, the poor, ragged, dirty and hungry peasants would be ground under the heels of others. As usual, each side would blame the peasants for siding with the other and punish those they thought to be guilty. The Spanish would be the most savage, because they were so far away from home. They were oppressors without inhibitions.
“We must hide everything, just like we used to do,” the priest finally said. “And that includes our women.”
There was no disagreement. Rosita herself had been raped a few years ago by a Spaniard. She had endured. That’s what women were supposed to do. At least that’s what another priest had told her.
As would any mother, she feared for her son. This night she would sneak into his room while he was sleeping and pray over him. If he caught her, he would be embarrassed. Then she would pray that the war didn’t come. But she knew it would.
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 Nina, 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 that 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. He added that additional ships continued to arrive. U.S. Navy warships were further down towards the mouth of the Chesapeake and would escort the ragtag armada to Cuba when the time came. These consisted of the recently re-named cruiser Atlanta and a number of armed sloops and converted merchantmen. The Atlanta had been the HMS Shannon. It was felt that her 10 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. That there was no love lost between them was an easy conclusion.
To make matters even more awkward, Salazar had brought a German woman named Helga to sit beside him, and she was clearly 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 almost nothing 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.