Valdez’s men laughed as if he’d just said the funniest thing in the world. A few moments later, the American General Chamberlain, a pale man with a drooping mustache shook his hand and congratulated him on a job well done.
When the general disappeared, he took Maria’s hand and smiled at her. Tonight they would make desperate love on a blanket a little ways away from his camp. He had promised her that he would liberate and destroy the despicable concentration camps like the one she’d escaped from.
* * *
Secretary of State James G. Blaine could see all his ambitions for the presidency and the existence of an overseas American Empire being flushed ignominiously down the toilet. He looked into the sad eyes of Libbie Custer and wished he truly could reach out and comfort her. Sadly, she had made it clear to one and all that she was totally dedicated to rescuing her husband and resuming their lives together. Not that he would have tried, of course, but she was so achingly lovely. Whatever had she seen in her impetuous husband? He banished the thoughts from his brain. He was married and loved his wife. He would only see the White House when he was a guest, as he was now.
“I do understand the irony, Mr. Blaine. When my husband is rescued it will be because of the efforts of his main political rivals, Winfield Scott Hancock and Chester A. Arthur. And I do understand that it might just propel either General Hancock or Chester Arthur into the White House. According to the newspapers, Hancock has skillfully merged both former Union and Confederate soldiers into one army, a remarkable achievement. It also appears that he will be besieging Havana in short order. However, he doesn’t have enough men to properly invest Havana, and he will not get any significant reinforcements.”
Blaine nodded and put down his tea. They were in her private residence in the White House. The servants were present but discretely out of hearing. “All of which means that this war could drag on and on,” he said. “Sooner or later, Hancock must either storm the city or wait for his men to catch the fever and die. Fortunately, the fevers have not been severe this year, at least not yet.”
“At least we have taken Puerto Rico without serious incident.”
Marine Commandant, Colonel Charles G. McCawley, had scraped together the equivalent of a regiment from various ships’ crews and along with fresh enlistments, had landed outside San Juan while under the cover of American gunboats. The conquest had been almost totally bloodless, with only one Marine killed and four wounded. McCawley and the Marines were the nation’s newest heroes. Perhaps a score of Spaniards had fallen in the conquest of Puerto Rico.
“And, dear lady, the Marines will soon re-embark and be sent to Cuba. They will be replaced in Puerto Rico by our militia who will do nothing more than occupy that peaceful and lovely little place. There is the remote possibility that we will be able to gather up the equivalent of another brigade by combining the Marines and a Negro cavalry regiment. The cavalry will fight dismounted, of course. Barring a miracle, we will not be able to ship and supply very many horses. Or men, for that matter.”
“Yet we must win. Or do you feel constrained because of the actions of Congress?”
Blaine tried to hide his annoyance but failed. Cuban rebel spokesman Fidel Cardanzo had spoken with him on several occasions about his visions for the future of Cuba and they did not include a new Cuba as a permanent province or territory of the United States. No, the Cuban rebels wanted independence and they wanted it immediately. The idea of turning over such an island jewel as Cuba to the rag-tag and largely black rebels disgusted him. They needed much more help before they could rule a country on their own.
As usual, Congress was confused with some members wanting a permanent takeover of the Spanish possession, while others said that the U.S. should maintain sovereignty over the island for a set amount of time, approximately four years after victory. This seemed to be the idea that, in some form, would carry. Cardanzo and the rebels would protest, but if there was a date certain by which the U.S. would leave, then perhaps they would be satisfied. The Cuban rebels’ leader, Jose Marti, had spent a considerable amount of time wooing various members of Congress and had largely succeeded. Cuba would not be a permanent part of an American Empire and that infuriated Blaine.
At a slightly different level, there were negotiations with Cardanzo regarding giving American merchants preferred status when Cuba was liberated. Additionally, the U.S. Navy required land for bases and coaling stations when the war was finally concluded. Cardanzo, speaking for Jose Marti and others, had made it clear that using Havana for anything other than the incidental presence of American warships was not negotiable. Other sites, however, were acceptable as potential permanent bases. Matanzas was an obvious locale, but there were thoughts that Santiago on the other side and east of Havana would be better. The farther away from Havana the better, they said. Out of sight, out of mind with the American fleet, went the thought.
There were rumors of a superb anchorage to the east of Santiago at a place called Guantanamo. That had to be checked out. In a few years, only American footholds would remain in Cuba.
Libbie smiled tolerantly. “You are a very unhappy man, and that is a shame. I am truly sorry that you will not see the presidency in this lifetime,”
Blaine smiled bleakly. She was lying through her teeth. She was thrilled that his ambitions had been thwarted. And to think he once thought of her as a potential ally. He stood leaned over and kissed her hand. “Perhaps I shall be reincarnated as a Roman emperor and could rule by decree. Perhaps that is truly more my style.”
* * *
The meeting between Gilberto Salazar and Monsignor Bernardi had been tense. The governor-general had given them their orders, however, and they were determined to carry them out. Salazar’s legion, now down to only a hundred men, would be reconstituted by volunteers called to action by the rabid exhortations of Bernardi.
The small Italian priest had a booming voice and the wild eyes of a fanatic. He called upon the faithful to rise up and drive the Protestant invaders out of Cuba, totally ignoring the fact that many of the Americans were Catholics, especially those from Ireland. He raged that the Americans would destroy statues of the Virgin and sexually assault nuns. His speeches were given as sermons during Mass, or in parks or on street corners. Wherever anyone gathered in the name of Jesus, he said, there he would preach. To his own annoyance, he was only moderately successful, and primarily because most of the men now in Havana were already in a military unit. Those few who weren’t in the army tended to be too old, too young, or too infirm.
With considerable effort, the two men managed to gather up enough men to bring Salazar’s Legion up to a thousand men, although many were not prime soldier material. Arming them was not a problem. The land outside Havana was littered with abandoned rifles as a large part of the army had thrown them away and simply disappeared.
Regardless of their physical limitations, the new recruits burned with zeal. They wanted nothing more than to hurl themselves at either the Americans or the Cuban rebels, and if they were killed in the effort, even better. They yearned to be martyrs.
On reviewing them, Governor General Villate had said that their intensity reminded him of some Moslem sects he’d fought against while commanding Spanish forces in Africa. Martyrdom, he’d said, was a Moslem goal that they cherished. Salazar had no idea what sects he was talking about. If his recruits wanted to kill themselves for the glory of God while he got the glory of victory, then that was wonderful. Salazar wanted victory and survival. Martyrdom was for fools.