“You’re wonderful,” said Sarah.
Martin looked around. The cottage was Spartan. There wear no personal effects around. “Ah, whose place is this?”
Ruth smiled. “Clara Barton’s”
* * *
Ensign Prentice stood behind Janson on the bridge of the Aurora, now temporarily renamed the Oslo. Her papers showed that she was now a Norwegian merchant and she had just managed to evade the few American warships on patrol. Even if she’d been stopped, her cargo of foodstuffs was not military and, as an apparent neutral, she would likely have been permitted to go on through to Havana. If necessary, Janson would have shown his real identification, but he would not have divulged his purpose.
Prentice felt more than a few minutes trepidation as they steamed slowly through the narrow channel that led from the Caribbean to the inner harbors of Havana. He could not help but stare at the rows of guns on the battlements of the Castillo del Morro and the Castillo de la Cabana that seemed to be staring right at him. Only a few shells would shatter their wooden hulled ship. On the other hand, it looked like the Spanish guns were ancient and rusty. He stared though his telescope and saw no one paying attention to the Oslo or, for that matter, manning the guns of the two forts.
They were directed to anchor in an area of the harbor called the Ensenada de Marimelena, directly across from the downtown area of Havana and only a few hundred yards away from their target, the Spanish battleship Vitoria. Clustered around her were the cruisers Aragon and Navarro. Other than a much smaller cruiser and a gaggle of gunboats, this was the heart of the Spanish Navy in the New World. And, Prentice thought to himself, we are here to rip its heart out.
Spanish customs inspection had been a joke. The Spanish government was delighted to have a European ship thumb its nose at the Americans and, besides, the Oslo’s cargo of foodstuffs was very welcome. It was considered hilarious to the Spaniards that the cargo had been picked up in the U.S. and brought to Havana for sale to America’s enemy. The ship was cheerfully waved through and cleared to unload without even a cursory inspection.
That no one on the Oslo chose to take shore liberty was unusual but nothing worthy of note. They’d informed the Spanish authorities that they would be departing as soon as possible and likely with very short notice. When they sensed that the American blockaders were weak or distracted, they would run. The Spanish authorities wished them Godspeed. One said that they were heroes and that he would have a Solemn High Mass said for their safety.
Prentice, Janson, and the small crew of American sailors who had volunteered for the mission loudly wanted to leave Havana and allegedly make some more money before the Americans got serious about their half-hearted blockade. The Spanish understood their mercantile motives.
The ship was unloaded quickly and payment in English pounds was received. As darkness fell, Prentice and Janson stood on the bridge and looked at the Vitoria. There was no attempt at secrecy on her part either. Candles and oil lamps burned and there seemed to be festivities ongoing. They could hear laughter and the sound of music. Prentice thought it would be wonderful to go on board and announce to one and all that he was an officer in the United States Navy and he’d been sent with terrible new weapons to sink the Spanish Navy’s only remaining major warship.
If they succeeded, they would be heroes and Prentice openly hoped for a medal and a promotion. Janson’s hope was less dramatic. He just wanted to sink the damn enemy ship and get away. He also wanted to change the Oslo’s name back to the Aurora and get his old crew back. Those sailors remained back in St. Augustine. This was no place for civilians.
It was considered very bad luck to change a ship’s name. Janson felt a cold breeze and wondered if it was the wind or his fears. Why the hell, he wondered, had he volunteered for this mission? Why had he allowed American naval engineers to modify the hull of his ship so that it now housed two large and lethal torpedoes?
* * *
General Weyler was outraged. The request from the government in Madrid, as forwarded through Havana, was almost an insult. King Alfonso XII had sent a message demanding the prompt and complete destruction of the American forces at Matanzas. The letter said that the continued American presence on Spanish soil was an intolerable insult to Spain, the situation was repugnant, and that all efforts must expended immediately to expel the despised invaders. The implication was clear. In the opinion of the king and the government in Madrid, the Spanish army under Valeriano Weyler was doing little or nothing to resolve the grievous situation.
Vlas Villate was the Governor General of Cuba and Weyler’s superior. He had been looking forward to retiring from his position in Cuba and returning to his estates in Spain. The unexpected war had intruded on his plans.
“However crudely put,” Villate said, “the king has a point. This appears to be a stalemate and it cannot go on forever. The Americans must be crushed, destroyed, just as we must absolutely wipe out any vestiges of Cuban independence. Madrid cannot, however, understand why it is taking so long to move a Spanish army a mere fifty miles.”
Weyler considered Villate to be both his commander and a mentor. They both felt that ruthlessness must be shown, both to the United States and to the rebels now only a few miles from where they were meeting in what had once been the home of a prosperous farmer. Nor did either man much care how many casualties were suffered by the Spanish Army. The Americans must go. However, the Spanish army must be victorious in order for that to happen.
“What they don’t realize is that the distance from Havana to Matanzas is the longest fifty miles in the world,” Weyler said. “The road is a mud track and the army moves at a snail’s pace in part because of that. There are no railroads except for those few that carried sugar products to port, and all food and ammunition must be carried by wagon or by mule. Worse, the army is an untrained mess.”
“Yes, but it is the army we have and the army we must use,” said Villate. “We outnumber the Americans who are just as inexperienced as we are. Many of our officers have never seen battle and even fewer of the enlisted men. However, the same must hold true for the Americans.”
Weyler thought he saw an opening. “Which is why I’ve ordered two divisions from the Santiago garrison to be been sent north to reinforce our army at Matanzas. When they arrive, that will give us an additional twenty thousand men. Our army will total nearly a hundred thousand soldiers.”
Villate shook his head. “Given the distance and, again, the state of the roads, it will be more than a month before they arrive, and they will doubtless be in terrible shape when they do. And that will mean more time for them to get ready. No, my good friend, we must show Madrid that we can fight and, if God is on our side, that we can drive the Americans into the sea.” He sighed, “I long to see large numbers of American prisoners rotting in our prisons while King Alfonso piously decides their fate. Perhaps he will trade them all for President Custer? Then we can chain him and ship him to Madrid.”
Weyler had to smile. “It is a compelling picture and, yes, I do see your point. I shall attack at the soonest opportunity.”
“When?” Villate urged. “I must respond to the king.”
Weyler stood and examined a map on the wall. The Americans held strong positions both on the hill he understood they called Mount Haney and at the opening of the Matanzas Bay. He would attack both spots. Take the foolishly named hill and guns could dominate at least part of the bay, which would drive away American shipping. Take the opening to the bay and the Americans would be trapped.