“Get me any senior officers you can find. We have to begin negotiating an end to this war.”
* * *
Against the advice of his staff, Ryder had entered Havana. He had gotten word that President Custer had been shot and that Sarah, Ruta, and the others were safe. Although he was not in the slightest bit fond of Custer, he could not bring himself to wish ill to the foolish man. He had sent a doctor on ahead with orders to get to the consulate as quickly as possible. As to his responsibilities, he still had a brigade to coordinate as it moved deeper and deeper into the mass of buildings, many of them burning, that was Havana.
The news that a Spaniard had shot Custer had spread rapidly throughout the army. It angered the American soldiers who were fighting even more ferociously than before. Rifle fire and Gatling guns were destroying any resistance that the Spanish could manage. If something didn’t happen, the battle could turn into a massacre as other American forces had penetrated other parts of Havana’s defenses. Pywell took picture after picture and Martin wondered how many of them would turn out. Enough, he hoped, so that the world would see the carnage.
Whenever they could, soldiers yelled in Spanish for the enemy to surrender. They were told that they would be protected and treated well. They were told that they would be sent home if that was their wish. It was beginning to work. Numbers of Spanish soldiers had thrown down their rifles and begun walking towards them with their hands up. Their expressions said that they were terrified they would be murdered by the American soldiers. Numerous white flags were waving from windows as well as by individual soldiers. Ryder gave the order to cease fire and an uneasy silence descended. Without being ordered, Spanish soldiers lay down their arms and nervously stepped away.
Whole units had begun surrendering. Spanish officers willingly took charge and organized a parade of disconsolate and unarmed men heading out of Havana. Ryder had no idea where they would go and didn’t give a damn. He was, however, shocked at how many there were. Hopefully, there were too many for the Cuban rebels to massacre. He hoped somebody was taking charge of protecting the prisoners from any attempt at massacre.
“Haney, with decent training and leadership, they could have either held out forever or chewed us to little pieces.”
“Thank God, St. Patrick, and Richard Gatling for saving us,” Haney said. “Now, general dearest, let’s find that damned consulate.”
Before they could advance further, a Spanish captain waving a white flag approached them nervously. “Are you a senior officer?” he asked.
Before Ryder could answer, Haney stepped in front of him, and snapped to attention and glared at the poor man. “I am an aide to General Martin Ryder. Who the devil are you?”
The captain looked like he was going to cry. “I am Captain Joaquin Avila, the senior aide to General Valeriano Weyler who is now the Governor General of Cuba. My general would like to find a senior officer to accept the surrender of all the Spanish forces in Cuba.”
Ryder’s mind reeled. From Hancock on down they had thought that the Spanish would be forced to surrender Havana, but this man had just said that Weyler was willing to surrender all of Cuba. Jesus. He turned to a young American officer who was watching and listening with his mouth open. “Lieutenant, run back to where the field telegraph reaches and send messages to Generals Hancock, Benteen, and Miles. Tell them that Weyler wishes to surrender all of Cuba and not just Havana. Tell them that I am going to accept that surrender on their behalf and order a cease fire to take affect at least in my area.”
* * *
Prentice had managed to cadge a lift back to the Orion where Janson’s ship was in line to enter the confines of Havana’s harbor. Gunfire from the Spanish side of the narrow channel had been reduced to sporadic small arms fire. To further protect the lightly armored auxiliary cruiser, Janson had the port side of the hull draped in wood planks to help keep bullets from piercing the Orion’s thin hull.
A pair of Gatling guns had been mounted on the port side as well, and bursts of bullets had silenced almost all of the remaining enemy gunners. In his opinion, it was indeed becoming the age of the machine gun.
Prentice fully understood the difficulty of moving a large and cumbersome machine gun while under fire. Mounting guns on a stable but moveable platform such as a ship was an ideal use of the deadly weapons. Not only could the guns rake enemy positions, but they could also be used effectively against attacks by small boats.
“In for a penny,” said Janson as the ship entered the narrow channel. Buildings and fortifications on both sides were smoking and some were in flames. Prentice held his breath as they moved slowly through what was clearly the most dangerous part of their journey.
Then the channel widened and they emerged into the harbor. “Dante’s Inferno,” said Prentice.
“If Dante wrote about a city on fire, then you’re right.”
Clouds of smoke partly obscured the sunlight and made them choke. Prentice hoped he wasn’t choking on ashes from human flesh, then decided there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had come a long way in the last few months and wasn’t certain he liked the trip. It had been one thing to sink an enemy gunboat and then a battleship, but killing that man in the Spanish fort had been difficult to deal with, even though the man had been attacking him and it had occurred so quickly. He would never get over the look on the man’s face as he lay there mortally wounded from Prentice’s sword stroke. Now it was terrible to watch a proud and ancient city burning to death.
Large numbers of small boats sailed or steamed past them, clearly trying to escape to the open sea. “I suppose we should try to stop them,” said Janson, “but there are so damn many of them. Besides, the admiral doesn’t seem too concerned, so why should we.”
“Oh my God,” Prentice exclaimed. “Look at that!”
Many of the buildings lining the once beautiful waterfront were burning and the streets were packed with Spanish soldiers. Most of them were without weapons while others threw their rifles into the harbor. Some were waving white flags and others simply waving their arms in a frantic attempt to show that they were harmless. A soldier fell into the water, pushed by those behind him. More followed. Only a couple surfaced.
“We could kill a thousand with one volley,” said Janson. “Unless given a direct order from Admiral Porter I will not fire, and perhaps not even then. It would be like slaughtering sheep or chickens.”
Signal flags fluttered from the flagship. Prentice interpreted. “We are to anchor but keep up steam. No small boats will be allowed near us. I guess that’s in case they try to rush us and overwhelm us.”
“Makes sense. Somehow, though, I don’t think the good admiral expected this sort of reception. Nope, I’ll bet you a dollar that the old war dog expected to fight his way in and may just be a little disappointed, just like he might have been when the Spanish squadron surrendered without a fight.”
Prentice laughed softly. “Skipper, I’m not the slightest bit disappointed.”
* * *
Salazar’s legion now consisted of himself and two very nervous soldiers. He was convinced that they would run at the first chance, so he kept his revolver out and watched them carefully. He would not put it past them to attack him and rob him.
He had given considerable thought to where Juana and Kendrick would go and decided there was only one logical conclusion. With escape through the crumbling Spanish lines and out to the Americans still impractical because of ongoing fighting; that left only the residence of Juana’s uncle, the esteemed Bishop Estefan Campoy.