“With your men and hopefully getting them organized.”
Ryder found Haney and four companies of confused infantry waiting orders. Haney had already told them to fill their canteens with water and their pouches with ammunition. Ryder guessed it to be a couple of miles to the hill and, although it didn’t look like a difficult climb, he knew better.
By the time they reached the base of the hill, they were drenched with sweat and gasping for breath. The oppressive Cuban heat had quickly sapped their energy. He was about to call a halt when one of the Cuban rebels came and said that a Spanish force was approaching the other side of the hill.
Shit, Ryder thought. “Everybody up and move out. Last one to the top of the hill gets busted to private.”
“What if you’re already a private?” someone yelled.
Ryder laughed despite his discomfort. “Master Sergeant Haney will think of something, won’t you?”
“Damn right, sir. Now get off your asses and up that fucking hill!”
It was steeper than it looked and far more humid than it had been on the beach. Even Ryder was exhausted and there were far too many contenders for last man for Haney to count even if he had wanted to. By the time they reached the crest and were able to start downhill, a number of soldiers were gasping and actually crawling on their hands and knees. All were filthy and covered with mud and bugs.
“Ration the water,” Ryder ordered, even though he knew it was futile. Men were already swallowing heavily from the little bit they had in their canteens.
Ryder looked for the military crest, the point beneath the actual crest and the most effective spot to place their defenses. He was about to order a patrol farther downhill when shots rang out. Puffs of smoke showed from trees only a little more than a hundred yards away. Brief flashes of white Spanish uniforms could be seen through the foliage. Without orders, his men dropped to the ground and returned fire. More Spaniards could be seen joining the first group and he realized that they’d made the top first by only a few moments.
Someone screamed. One of his soldiers had been hit. Haney dropped down beside Ryder. “I don’t think there’s all that many of them, sir. I think if we rush them all shooting and screaming they’ll run away. At any rate, clearing the hill’s a lot better than sitting here and shooting at each other.”
“Agreed,” said Ryder. He sent runners to the company commanders and impatiently bided his time until he got word that everyone understood.
Now came the truly dangerous part, he thought. “What the hell,” he said to no one in particular. He stood and blew hard on a whistle. Responses came from either side of him and he could sense rather than see several hundred soldiers emerging and moving forward.
Ryder drew his pistol and waved it, “Faster, men, faster! And yell, damn it!”
Four hundred men screeched and hollered and ran towards the Spanish, shooting as they went. The Spanish returned fire raggedly and a couple of his men fell. In seconds, though, they were in the Spanish position. There were indeed not that many of them and they were retreating as quickly as they could from the insane Yankees. One turned and fired his rifle. The shot seemed to whistle just above Ryder’s head. Ryder paused, steadied his shaking arm and emptied his revolver at the man who grabbed his head and fell backwards.
It was over. Haney reported one dead and three wounded among the American force. Ryder swallowed. These were the first casualties the First Maryland Volunteers had suffered in combat. They wouldn’t be the last.
Ryder walked to the man he’d shot. One bullet had entered the man’s left eye and another had plowed through his chest. Either could have killed the Spaniard, not that it mattered. Ryder thought the man looked about thirty and wondered if he had a family. He ordered himself to stop thinking like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d caused men to die and it likely wouldn’t be the last.
A corporal came up and said that a larger enemy force was approaching the hill but appeared to have stopped well out of range. Ryder took his binoculars and found the enemy. It looked like at least a battalion of Spaniards and, yes, they were pausing. It didn’t look like they were in any great hurry to take their turn storming Mount Haney.
Ryder gave orders to form a perimeter and dig in as best they could. The men needed no urging and a rough barricade and shallow trench quickly appeared.
A short while later, Major Barnes arrived. He was leading a column of huffing infantry. “I got the second battalion and the third is getting organized. They’ll be along shortly.”
“Excellent, major. Now send men back to bring up as much water as they can carry. Then we set up a steady stream of supplies from the bay to here. I also want patrols out to find out just what the damned Spanish are up to.”
Haney knelt down and handed him a canteen. Ryder took a swallow and nearly choked. “What the hell is this?”
“Irish whisky, sir. I save it for special occasions and I think this warrants it. We just won the first round of fighting between them and us and the men are right proud.”
Ryder laughed, agreed, and took another swallow, this time much slower. They’d just won a skirmish against an outnumbered handful of Spanish, but, yes, it did feel good and so did the whisky. Better, he still had half a canteen full of water to drink after he had another swallow of Haney’s whisky.
Chapter 7
It took what seemed like an eternity to arrive at St. Augustine. To say that the train line from Charleston to St. Augustine was inadequate was a gross understatement. The gauge was narrow and the tracks and rail bed in such bad shape that the train could only crawl along lest it shake the tracks apart.
The detachment of doctors and nurses working under the flag of the Red Cross had been jammed into passenger cars that moved slowly through the humid Florida heat. It had been so hot inside the cars that a couple of them had passed out. Even though it was clear that efforts were being made to improve the tracks, the ongoing construction further hampered travel.
During one stop, Clara Barton gathered her flock in a local church. There were about fifty of them. Sarah and Ruth hung back, aware that their presence depended solely on how Miss Barton felt about enthusiastic volunteers who lacked professional training. There were some nurses who thought the two women had bought their way into the program and, to a large extent, they were right.
“We need to go to Cuba,” Barton announced.
“I need a bath,” muttered Ruth. Sarah agreed wholeheartedly. Sanitation had been miserable. They’d joked that the hogs on farms they’d passed had sneered at them.
Barton continued. “Towards that end, I have been petitioning and arguing with people in Washington and they have finally agreed. We will go to Cuba.”
This was met with applause and cheers. “However,” she said, “it will have to wait until the army has moved farther inland so we can set up a hospital in relative safety. That should only be a couple of days. In the meantime, we will move by ship to Key West where, I’ve been told, the conditions are even more primitive there than they have been.”
“I think I will take off all my clothes and jump into the ocean,” said Ruth as they left the church.
“An excellent idea if we can manage to not get arrested,” Sarah said.
“Try not to do that,” said Miss Barton, startling them. They had not heard her come up behind them. “I will need all my nurses. More importantly, the telegraph cable between Key West and Matanzas is now operational. Apparently someone in the government with half a brain had a ship laying cable for several days prior to the attack. Since the ship was showing British colors, the Spaniards left her alone.”
She handed Sarah a piece of paper. “This is an article sent north to the Washington Post. I believe the gentleman in question is an acquaintance of yours and that you are related to people in the First Maryland. You are to be congratulated.” She said and walked away.