“A price must be paid for an empire,” said Blaine dismissively. “But what if I suggest a free entry to our Pacific empire? I’m thinking, of course about Hawaii. It’s been said that the islands are incredibly lovely, but they are ruled by a backward tribal hierarchy. We have a treaty with them that grants the islands favored status for trading, but the Americans who have settled there have been agitating for something better. I suggest we give them their wishes. I also suggest that we take the islands before someone else does.”
Hunt smiled. Such a bloodless conquest would legitimize his plans for an expanded navy. “We could take the islands with the small and old warships we have out there, and utilize only a regiment or two of volunteers from California to overwhelm the islanders. Then, of course, we would need to establish and maintain bases in or around their major city, Honolulu. I understand there are marvelous anchorages available. I think Hawaii would definitely be a start in the Pacific and, better, I do not believe Hawaii has any history of fever.”
Blaine was pleased. A mere dot on the map of the world was better than no dot on the map. He would get the United States a foothold in the vast Pacific and Hunt would get further justification for his improved and expanded navy.
* * *
The usually ill-tempered Nelson Miles angrily pushed the piece of paper across the table to General Hancock. General Couch, who had already read it, showed no expression. He already had a fair idea what Hancock’s decision would be.
Miles, however, wanted his thoughts heard. “Clara Barton may be the closest thing we have to an American saint, but the idea that we would send aide to the enemy is preposterous. I acknowledge that they are only asking for ether and other medical supplies and not weapons, but any Spanish soldier healed through the use of an anesthetic could soon be fighting against us.”
“I disagree with that assumption,” said Couch. “Any soldier operated on now is not going to be fighting us for a goodly long time, if ever, given the terrible wounds that modern weapons can inflict. Giving them medical supplies is something that might just serve us well in a post war environment. A little mercy shown now could pay dividends down the road.”
General Hancock had been astonished to receive a letter from Clara Barton reminding him that the Red Cross was an international organization and that the United States was honor and treaty bound to adhere to the terms of the Geneva Convention. While sending medical supplies to an enemy to treat their wounded was not specifically mentioned, she firmly felt that it fell within its terms.
Hancock took the letter and handed it to an aide. “I’m not surprised they are suffering shortages. Our blockade and siege have been fairly effective. Some food might be smuggled in, but not ether or other medications. Therefore, we shall supply it to them. According to Miss Barton’s letter, they have enough for only a week or so. I propose that we agree to send them some in just about a week.”
Nelson Miles blinked and smiled tightly as the implications behind Hancock’s statement sunk in. “A lot could change in a week. The whole world could have been changed, at least their world.”
* * *
Haney and Lang crawled the half mile from the American works to the Spanish fortifications in nervous silence. If the intelligence that the Spaniards had pulled back was inaccurate, they could be met with a murderous torrent of bullets. At best, they could be allowed to proceed and then taken prisoner. Neither fate seemed particularly attractive.
Shells had cratered the ground which gave them some cover as they sneaked forward. Each foot gained brought them closer to either safety or tragedy. Even though each man wanted to say or whisper something, they knew better. Adding to their concerns was the fervent wish that their artillerymen understood their orders and were not going to fire. They hadn’t shelled the Spanish for the last several days as a deliberate ploy to make the Spanish think that this was a safe sector. Just not too safe, had been the thought. A shell or two every now and then to keep them on their toes was the thought. Haney and Lang just hoped that the gunners remembered the schedule.
They were only a few feet away from the defensive crest. There were no sounds although they thought they could smell tobacco being smoked. Lang and Haney shrugged and slithered over and into a Spanish trench. It was empty and they exhaled a sigh of relief. Someone coughed, but it wasn’t close by. Even so, the trench wasn’t totally empty. The Spanish had left a few troops behind to watch the Americans. They would have to avoid detection if the plan was to succeed. They could not alarm the Spanish and send them rushing back to their trenches before the Americans attacked. This foray was only to determine if the Spaniards actually were keeping a minimal presence at their front lines. So far that appeared to be the case.
They hunched down and looked over the embankment to the now visible city of Havana. Haney was acutely aware that Ruta was somewhere in it, along with Sarah and the other nurses. His eyes could see people moving around in the distance, but in no great numbers and with no sense of urgency. Numerous cook fires were burning down. There was the smell of smoke and some of it came from charred buildings. Even though there was some laughter and some drunken idiot was singing badly, the Spanish were asleep. They wouldn’t stay that way too much longer, he thought happily, and this night could be the last full night that Havana was under Spain’s flag.
An hour later they were back in their own lines, exhausted and dirty, but safe. “Well?” asked Ryder.
“There can’t be more than a handful of them in their forward trenches,” Haney said as he guzzled water. “We can take them out easily.”
Lang nodded agreement. “When will we begin bombarding again?”
“Just about right now,” said Ryder. A moment later, American mortars lifted shells towards the enemy.
Chapter 21
Lieutenant Prentice envied the Marines and sometimes wished he was one. Lean, hard, and disciplined, they epitomized what a fighting man should be. He imagined them as Spartan warriors or Roman legionnaires. The hundred Marines crowding the deck of the Orion looked like they could lick a force ten times their size. The dismounted Negro cavalrymen on other ships looked equally fierce and professional, but they were army and his heart was with the navy.
The Marines could also row their own boats, while the cavalrymen needed help. The sailors on other ships cheerfully complained that the black soldiers couldn’t row across a bathtub. They prudently said this out of the hearing of the Buffalo Soldiers of the Ninth U.S. Cavalry. The name had been given to them by the Indian tribes they had fought.
Fifty-six year old Colonel Charles G. McCawley commanded the six hundred marines who would lead the assault, which thoroughly annoyed the soldiers who felt that they should go first. They did, however, understand the realities of the situation. The Marines were good with boats, while the soldiers were not. The Marines would go in first with the dismounted cavalry following quickly. Prentice would go with the Marine colonel.
Boats were lowered and filled with Marines who wore dark uniforms and had blackened their faces. The Negro cavalrymen jeered that they needed no such assistance to be hidden in the dark, causing obscenities to fly back and forth.
The Marines rowed steadily and surely to the shore. Their landing point was lit by men with candles and lanterns and they were just north of the almost star shaped fort called Morro Castle. It was assumed that the men in the various units would get mixed up; therefore, there would be no time-consuming attempt to sort people out. Under the command of McCawley and others the men poured out the boats as soon as the wooden hulls scraped the shore.
Prentice jumped out, took a few steps in the hip-deep water and stumbled. His revolver was now wet and all he had that he could count on was a cutlass. He cursed and pushed his way through the water to the shore. The colonel had arrived well ahead of anyone else. “Hurry up, Prentice; we won’t be waiting for you.”