“Therefore,” Villate continued, “I strongly suggest that, if we are not victorious, you manage to get yourself killed in battle. If that happens, we will put up an appropriate statue celebrating your heroism.” That last comment was said with a sneer. Salazar’s ability to avoid battle was a strong rumor.
Weyler stood and walked to a large map of Cuba that had been pinned to a wall. “We will concede the point that Matanzas is an attractive and likely target, major. We will assign two regiments of militia to support you. Along with your existing unit, you will have two thousand men. Do not promote yourself. You will still be a major although you will command what amounts to a brigade. You will take charge of defending Matanzas. You will not have enough men to stop an invasion, but we hope you can at least slow them down.”
“I will do more than that,” Salazar said fervently. “I will kill them.”
* * *
For the first several days, the trip from the Chesapeake and down the Atlantic coast had been pleasant. Even though most of the soldiers had never been out to sea and the majority of them had gotten seasick, the nausea passed fairly quickly.
But then came the storm. It appeared as a line of black clouds on the horizon that crept inexorably and threateningly towards them. As it overwhelmed the host of transports, the waves became choppy and intense and the ship seemed to vibrate from the impacts. Captain Janson quickly ordered everyone not involved in working the ship to go below where there was relative safety from the threat of being swept overboard.
As the wind-whipped seas attacked the Aurora, everyone again became ill. Ryder had hoped to be able to control his heaving stomach, but he lost. He made it to his cramped quarters and vomited into a bucket. The stench of hundreds of others doing that same thing made him and others even more nauseous. Soon, the transport was wallowing in the vomit of hundreds of men. Worse, Ryder quickly realized there was no place to empty the damn bucket.
Somehow it became night and still the storm lashed at them. Finally and just about dawn, he felt the winds slackening. A sailor looked in on Ryder and barely stifled a grin. The bucket had spilled and there was caked vomit on his uniform. Had the sailor laughed, Ryder was certain he would have killed him. If he’d been able to stand up, that is.
“Colonel, the skipper wants you on deck.”
Ryder groaned. “Tell him I’d like to be buried on land and not at sea, or is there something else he’d like to discuss.”
Now the sailor did grin, but shut it down quickly. “Sir, he thinks there’s a Spanish gunboat bearing down on us.”
* * *
On deck, the seas were still heavy but it no longer mattered. Any stomach problems quickly disappeared when Ryder saw the small but lethal looking vessel heading in their direction. The invasion fleet had been scattered by the storm and only a few ships were visible, and none of them were American warships. They were sheep without a shepherd.
Janson handed over his telescope. “I did some studying of Spanish ships after signing on with the navy, and I’ve also been to Havana on a few of occasions. The Spanish have a number of gunboats like the one bearing down on us and they’re designed to intercept smugglers. They’re not very large, maybe sixty feet, and they have a crew of about thirty. Most of them carry four small cannon, two on each side, along with some swivel guns that are murderous at close range. They have very limited coal capacity so that means we must be fairly close to Cuba. Either that or those bastards were using their sails to conserve fuel. Oh yes, they can do at least a couple of knots faster than we can.”
Ryder returned the telescope. “What do you suggest?”
“Barring a miracle, colonel, we cannot outrun them, although we will continue to flee with the hope that one of our missing escorts will discover us. Realistically, we have but two choices. We can surrender or we can fight.”
Ryder idly reached for his sidearm, then remembered it was still in his small cabin. “What’s your preference?”
“This ship is my livelihood and the crew are my friends, at least most of them. If we surrender, the ship is forfeit and we will be put in prison for God knows how long, doubtless until the end of the war and that could be years. Hell, they might even ship us to Spain for the Inquisition to play with. They say it doesn’t exist anymore, but I don’t quite believe it. I’ve always wanted to be taller, but not because of the rack and I sure as hell don’t want to be burned at the stake.”
“Damn it, skipper, that’s if they don’t kill us outright like they did the men of the Eldorado,” snapped a sailor who’d been standing close by.
“A good point,” said Janson, “In fact, that Spaniard coming at us might just be the one who butchered those boys.”
“That leaves fighting,” said Ryder. “I have more than four hundred men wondering what we’re going to do and there is a Gatling gun in the hold. May I suggest bringing it on deck and then use your men’s skills to tie it down so we can swing it from one side of the ship to the other? I will also bring up about fifty of my best shots and have them ready as well.”
Janson laughed. “You didn’t look like the type who surrendered easily.”
It took the better part of an hour to haul the gun on deck, secure it, and cover it with a tarpaulin. Shooters were given rifles and assigned spots on the deck. Until the Spaniard came close enough, they were to remain hidden.
“I’ve never seen a Gatling,” Janson said.
“The navy has a number of them and uses them to repel potential borders. The army has a small number but hasn’t quite figured out how to use them. The French and Germans have their own variants and used them to slaughter each other in their last war.”
The enemy gunboat was much closer than before. Ryder didn’t need a telescope to make out the men lining her hull. If his ideas didn’t work, he and his soldiers could be slaughtered.
“Captain, what guns to they have?”
“Like I said, they have four cannon, six or nine pounders, and they are likely very old. However, they are better than what we have, which is nothing. I don’t believe they have a bow-chaser which means they’ll have to come alongside to use their guns.”
“What’s their range?”
“On a good day, maybe a mile, mile and a half. But they’re riding low in the water so their effective range will be much less than that. Add to that the fact that the seas are still running and that the Spaniards are notoriously bad shooters, they’ll have to get really close to stand a chance of hitting us.”
Ryder felt a twinge of hope. Maybe this could be pulled off after all. Slowly but surely, the gunboat continued to gain on them. A puff of smoke erupted from her bow. “Just a signal gun, colonel. He wants us to heave to. I suggest we ignore him.”
The gunboat was a half mile of her port side when it finally ran parallel to the Aurora. The two gunports were open and the guns were run out. Janson looked through his telescope and shook his head. “I think those cannon were with the original Armada,” he sniffed.
One of the guns fired, and the shell splashed in front of them and short. A moment later and the second gun fired. The shell hit just in front of their bow, showering them with water.
“Shit,” said Janson, “they’re either better than I thought or they’re damn lucky.”
The gunboat closed the range until they were only a couple of hundred yards away. The guns fired again and one shell smashed into the Aurora’s wooden hull. They could hear cries and screams from below. Ryder hoped they were screams of fear and not pain.
“Now!” yelled Ryder. Soldiers whipped the tarp off the Gatling while others raised up to fire their rifles. “Gatling crew,” he reminded them, “sweep the deck and bridge. Riflemen, aim for the gunports and keep firing into them. It doesn’t matter if you can see anyone or not. Just keep shooting.”