“We need water,” said Ryder. “We can’t drink that stinking piss that’s in the swamps and streams around us, and we sure as hell can’t drink the salt water in the bay. Some of the men have and they are sicker than dogs.”
At Ryder’s direction, the men had begun filtering what passed for fresh water through layers of cloth to purge it of the crawly critters that infested it. It was slow and tedious, but did seem to provide some relief.
“I just wonder why the locals don’t get sick?” asked Barnes. “Next time one of us sees a doctor, or a nurse like my sister, we should ask them, although I think it’s Darwinian.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe all the Cubans who are susceptible to getting sick and dying are already dead and the ones left are those naturally selected to survive? For some reason, the Cubans are immune to what makes us sick. Maybe it has something to do with skin color. Maybe God made black people immune because they are so primitive. Hell, maybe they haven’t fully evolved.”
Ryder shook his head. “Lord, what a lovely thought. That means we are condemned to a weeding out that’ll be of epic proportions. You may be saying that more of us will die from illness than fighting. Sadly, that’s not very far-fetched. If you read the casualty reports from the Civil War it happened a lot.”
Barnes lit a cigar and blew the smoke in the general direction of the foliage that surrounded them. He’d noticed that some of the bugs who seemed to be staring at them didn’t like it which was fine by him. “Along with water, we also need food, ammunition, and anything else that makes sense to send to an army that’s invading a foreign land.”
General Miles had been complaining loudly that all the first invasion fleet had brought was manpower and enough ammunition to fight one battle. They had enough tins of food to last a couple of more days, but, after that, the men would start going hungry. The only local crop was sugar cane and was totally useless as a food. The local Cubans had small farms and grew some vegetables, but not in sufficient quantity to feed the army, which had now grown to fifteen thousand souls. The locals had also prudently departed with their livestock which deprived the army of another source of food.
Nor had the army yet moved inland. General Miles was waiting for the arrival of a second transport fleet that would bring, along with an additional ten thousand men, some hoped for supplies.
Barnes had not agreed with that plan. “Instead of sitting here on our asses, we should be moving inland and planning to strike at the Spanish. Instead, we wait here for them to hit us.”
Ryder decided not to criticize his commanding officer in front of a subordinate even though he was seriously thinking of marrying said subordinate’s sister. His thoughts quickly went to his and Sarah’s last few hours together. They had not consummated their relationship, but their kissing and caressing had been incredibly torrid and passionate. It had been a most pleasant reminder that the lovely young widow was not a shy and innocent virgin.
Get back to reality, he commanded himself. There were good reasons for the army’s waiting. First, little more than half the army had arrived and, as already noted, it was terribly short of supplies. According to intelligence, the Spanish in Havana outnumbered them at least three to one and were entrenched in strong fortifications. It was felt that any American attacking force would be cut to shreds. Ryder was beginning to wonder if the entire invasion stood any chance of success. Some soldiers were already calling the expedition Custer’s Folly.
Gunfire could be heard in the distance. Both sides had patrols out along with the rebels who were aiding the Americans. Contact was inevitable and sometimes bloody.
Someone shouted that men were approaching. He could see them through his binoculars. They were Cuban rebels, about a dozen of them. As they got closer, word was given that they should be allowed to pass.
Ryder grinned on seeing that their leader was Diego Valdez who saluted and waved expansively. “Colonel Ryder, I bring you two things. First there is a wagon approaching and on it are a number of barrels of water. It will taste like guano, which is bird shit, but it will quench your thirst and not kill you.”
“Bless you, Captain Valdez.” Valdez laughed at the rank he’d been given. “And what’s the second thing?”
“The Spanish have finally stirred themselves and a very large column is on its way to Matanzas.”
* * *
Gilberto Salazar had been angered at his regiment’s poor performance in trying to push the Americans off the hill overlooking Matanzas. His men had moved too slowly and tentatively; thus permitting a large American force to move onto the high ground and chase them off.
It was equally perplexing that General Weyler didn’t seem to care. Weyler commanded a mixed Spanish and Cuban force of about twenty-five thousand men that was moving exquisitely slowly towards Matanzas. It was almost as if the fire-breathing general didn’t want to fight the Americans. Impossible, he thought. Every Spaniard must feel that his honor had been impugned by the presence of the Americans.
Nor had his departure from his home in Havana been pleasant. Juana had been her usual bitchy self and had scarcely deigned to say goodbye. Helga had serviced him with typical German efficiency, satisfying him physically but not emotionally. Damn it to hell, he thought, he was going off to war. He deserved better from his women.
At Weyler’s command, he’d pulled his main force back about five miles from the Americans. He kept patrols out and there were constant brushes with the Americans and their rebel allies. Finally, after several days, General Weyler arrived with a strong escort. The main army was strung out behind him.
Weyler insisted on going close enough to see the American lines. “They are formidable,” he said on seeing the hills scarred by earthworks. “It will cost us a lot in Spanish blood, but with courage and God’s help we will throw them into the ocean.”
A puff of smoke emerged from the highest American held hill. A few seconds later, a cannon shell exploded several hundred yards in front of them. Weyler laughed. “Was that a gentlemanly warning to come no closer or were they panicked by the sight of us? I rather think the former, don’t you, major?”
“Perhaps they will run when they see our army formed up to attack.”
“That would be nice, but it will not happen.”
“May I ask when we will attack?”
“When we are ready, major, and not sooner,” Weyler said stiffly. He did not like the implied criticism. “However, I will say it will take at least a week for this sinfully slow army to arrive and get into position. Then we will have to bombard the Americans before we attack. A bombardment will likely cause very few American casualties, but to attack without one would dishearten our troops.”
Salazar thought that many of Weyler’s soldiers already looked disheartened but kept still. The general must know what kind of men he was leading. He wondered if King Alfonso did and what his royal majesty truly thought of this endeavor.
Then it occurred to him-was the Spanish army merely going through the motions? Would they simply fire a few rounds and retreat to Havana, leaving the rest of the island to the Americans? To run and hide before a smaller American army would be humiliating.
Weyler looked at him carefully. “If I am reading your mind, Salazar, you are concerned that we will depart for Havana after firing a few rounds to satisfy our honor. Do not be concerned. Once we are in place, we will attack and press the attack with vigor. Our goal will be to push the bastards into the ocean.”
* * *
Even though the army had not moved very far inland, Clara Barton thought it prudent for her medical staff to move to Cuba in anticipation of the fighting and not as a response to it. She and her volunteers were well aware that this would be dangerous, but she was proud that they all understood the risks and accepted them. It was the best, perhaps only, way they could treat the freshly wounded.