“Yes, well, I’ve just been out on deck, Gunner. Your men are working hard on that ice, but I think they could use some additional command presence. Good for them to see they are led from the front. What do you think?”
His reply wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic this time. “Aye, sir.”
“Excellent! Then I’ll see you out there when I take my next turn on the weather decks,” I said, showing my own grin, adding, “And by the way, thanks for the breakfast this morning. Your cook did a fine job of it. He has talents I didn’t know about.”
Worried looks came my way, until I said, “Don’t worry, men. I won’t steal him from you. We need the real backbone of the navy to be well fed.”
When I reappeared a few minutes later on the foredeck, there was Foghorn, bundled up like the rest. Walking up and down the line of sailors scraping ice from the ground tackle and railings, he was entertaining them with outrageous stories of prostitutes in various ports of the world who had colder hearts than the ice the men were attacking. The sailors were having a tough time of it keeping the decks and rigging free of a buildup of ice, but it had to be done, and not for appearance sake. Too much ice added too much weight too high on the ship.
My stateroom seemed positively warm when I returned to go through my correspondence. Newark’s accumulated mail had been brought aboard and I was hoping for a definitive word from Washington on my next orders. In one week, the ship was to be decommissioned and placed in ordinary—standby condition —for a year. That meant only a skeleton crew to maintain her, under the command of a lieutenant at most. Hundreds of Newark’s men would head off to their next ship or station within two weeks, and I was one of them. But, unlike the others, I hadn’t received any official word on my future. It was quite unusual, and more than a bit worrisome.
The pile of personal letters and naval correspondence was fully a foot high. I separated them into stacks: one for official things, the next for personal, with a third one for Maria’s scented letters, which I always kept until after I’d handled everything else. I tore open each blue Navy Department envelope, looking for the one with orders. There weren’t any. My concern mounted.
On the second pile were letters from friends and acquaintances around the world—Pierre Loti in the Med, my daughter Useppa in Tampa, my son Sean aboard the U.S.S. Olympia in China, my dear friend Sean Rork at the Washington Navy Yard, and Cardinal Mario Mocenni in Rome. Then I saw one from my young friend Theodore Roosevelt, New York’s energetic commissioner of police, who lived not far from Brooklyn.
For some reason, I opened it first. The letter was on his personal stationery and typical of Roosevelt—dramatic with a hint of intrigue, with no indication the recipient would do anything other than comply.
Captain Peter Wake, U.S.N.
U.S.S. Newark
Brooklyn Navy Yard
28 Feb 1897
My dear Peter,
Welcome home from the sea! I have been informed you and your magnificent ship will be in our city tomorrow, and she is to be decommissioned for overhaul. The commandant of the Brooklyn Navy Yard assures me you will be free to leave the ship.
Therefore, I must absolutely insist you give Edith and me the great pleasure of your company in our home at Sagamore Hill on your first night ashore. A carriage will be at your dock at five o’clock, to take you to the Brooklyn train station, where you have a reservation for passage to Oyster Bay on the Long Island Railroad. My man will pick you up there. The telephone number here at Sagamore Hill is Liberty 555, should your ship need to contact you during your overnight stay.
I am delighted you are here. However, I will fully admit there is more than our long friendship as the cause for this urgent invitation. There are crucial naval matters afoot which will directly impact our mutual professional futures quite soon.
We need to talk.
Theodore
I had no idea what exactly he meant, but I did know Roosevelt was connected to the political powers in charge of the incoming national administration of William McKinley. The presidential inauguration was on the fourth, just a few days away.
I hadn’t planned on leaving the ship until the seventh, when she was officially decommissioned for her refit and overhaul. Then I would head south to Washington, report to headquarters for my orders, and start my leave. First, I’d cross the Potomac and meet Maria at our small home off Fort Hunt Road just south of Alexandria. The plan was to spend three days there, then take the train to Florida where we’d spend six glorious weeks at our cottage on Patricio Island—away from everything and everyone.
Roosevelt’s letter stopped me cold, though. He knew something he couldn’t convey in the letter. Something important, which involved me.
I uncapped one of the brass speaking tubes lined up on the bulkhead near my desk. “This is the captain. Please pass the word for Commander Southby to come to my stateroom.”
He looked like an Arctic explorer when he arrived, undoing four layers of coats and foul weather gear when I bid him to sit and have a cup of coffee.
“How’re they doing on the ice?” I asked.
“Making some headway, sir, but they’re freezing. I’m having them work half an hour on deck, then come in for half an hour and get some hot coffee before they go back out. Rigging some steam hoses too. Saw Foghorn out there. Even had a scraper in his hand, though I think it was for my benefit.”
“Good idea on the half-hour breaks. I don’t want anybody getting frostbite.”
“At least we’re not out at sea with solid water breaking over the deck.”
I’d grown up at sea on the North Atlantic, and nodded my agreement. “Everything else all right?”
“Aye, sir, no major problems. Taking on provisions enough to last the week. Got the last of the personnel orders from headquarters. Everyone’s spreading out, but about fifty men will have to wait a couple days in Vermont until their new ships come in. Bet she’s still drafty as a barn. Boston won’t be pleasant either.”
Southby was heading for a shore assignment at Boston Navy Yard, if he stayed in the navy.
“Vermont is a floating wreck and a disgrace. I visited her a couple years ago for ten minutes and was appalled at her condition then. Now, as to Newark, since things are under control, I’ll be leaving the ship at five o’clock this evening and staying at the home of Theodore Roosevelt near Oyster Bay for the night. It’s about twenty-five miles from here. Should be back in the ship by ten tomorrow morning.”
I handed him the address and telephone number. “There are trains running until late at night and starting early in the morning. Or I can get a carriage ride back, if necessary. If there is any problem, do not hesitate to immediately contact me. Understood?”
“Aye, sir. Understood fully.”
He paused, then asked, “Did your orders ever come through, sir?”
“No, they haven’t yet. But I have an uncomfortable feeling they will tonight.”
Southby looked at me quizzically but said nothing.
6
Survival of the Fittest
Sagamore Hill
Oyster Bay, Long Island, New York
Monday evening
1 March 1897
Roosevelt was as restless as his letter indicated. Tapping his water glass the entire time at dinner, he could hardly wait until dessert was over. Soon afterward, his rambunctious but lovable clan retired for the night and he quietly invited me into his library, repeating the phrase used in the letter—we needed to talk about “crucial naval matters which are afoot.”
In a position of honor off the front hall and across from the parlor, Theodore Roosevelt’s library is quite a place, more of a museum than anything else. I’d been there on several occasions over the years, and loved it every time. It is large and imposing, yet comfortable and intimate. The many book shelves are full, intriguing mementos beckon from every table, and
solemn pictures hang along each wall, the largest being a magnificent portrait of his venerated father, which commands the room. It is the den of an upper-class patrician, oozing power and confidence, demanding respect from all who enter.
There is an eerie, quite uncivilized, side to the scene as well, for one is never alone in the library, even when no other human is present. Gazing at you from the floor, tables, walls—all around, below, and above you—are wild animals of every type and size. All are dead from Theodore’s own hand. Many are preserved by him as well, for more than anything else, the man is an accomplished naturalist and taxidermist. Various predators are shown in full rage, while numerous prey seem apathetic about their impending doom. It is a stunning display of Roosevelt’s dictum of life—survival of the fittest rules both nature and man.
My young friend has only to look in the mirror to confirm his hypothesis, for he is living proof. Theodore is physically fit and martially adept, in the extreme. But it wasn’t always so. In his childhood, he overcame crippling asthma which doctors promised would kill him by age thirty. In his young manhood, he battled the ruthless jungle of New York politics while effectively working for the betterment of the people, emerging with reputation not only intact, but enhanced.
He endured the death of his adored father and mentor, while finishing intense studies at Harvard. Several years later, he endured the tragic deaths of his beloved mother and wife on the very same day—Saint Valentine’s Day—only a few days after his daughter Alice was born. He survived brutal weather and rough men in the Bad Lands of Dakota and finally returned to an active life in New York when a record-breaking blizzard destroyed everything he’d built out West.
In addition, he’s read more books than anyone else I’ve ever met, can converse in four languages, is a respected expert in several sciences, and has maintained a prodigious work schedule of writing articles, essays, and books on everything from naval history to politics to social reform to several natural sciences.
In recent years, Roosevelt applied his energy toward tackling federal civil service reform under two presidents, and police reform in the notoriously corrupt New York Police Department, his current work when I visited him that night. In spite of daunting odds and enemies, he was successful in both governmental missions and became renowned for his honesty and courage.
The enemies he had accumulated for years were starting to take their toll, however, and at present he was faced with a scandal involving the police commission and the upper ranks, with which the press was having a field day. I had no doubt Roosevelt, who possessed an uncanny ability to utilize the press to his advantage and rally public opinion over political pressure, would emerge victorious. The only question was when.
But his note to me hadn’t mentioned his work as police commissioner, and the subject hadn’t been brought up so far in the evening. During dinner, in addition to the nervous tapping, I’d noticed something else about him. The deviously complex thirty-eight-year-old mind was clearly preoccupied and not at all genuinely involved in the light banter around the table, as usual. His face was tense, the spectacled eyes fixed not on the antics of his children, but on something far beyond the confines of the dining room, and those famous teeth were set in a positively predacious grimace.
Oh yes, Theodore definitely had something big up his sleeve. And it wasn’t in reaction to any problems aimed at him in the police profession. He was creating problems for someone else, far bigger and more dangerous game than the local city politicos. The disturbing thought occurred to me that Theodore wanted me right in the middle of whatever he was planning.
He motioned for me to come over closer to the roaring log fire and have the sole cushioned rocker. I felt the shrewd scrutiny of his father peering down from above, reinforced by two stag antelopes on either flank. At my feet, any attempt to escape would be deterred by an angry black bear, spread out across the burgundy and tan Persian carpet. Thus surrounded, I waited for the answer to the riddle of his summons.
Theodore took the other rocker, a plain unadorned chair, and started pitching fore and aft. No after-dinner drink was offered me other than tea. Theodore wasn’t much of a drinker, and then it was only one gin and tonic on the verandah or one glass of white wine with dinner. I could’ve used something stronger than tea, but didn’t ask. Not that night. I was on high alert and wanted to be completely prepared for anything he might say.
He began with the unique style of conversational cadence he subconsciously employed and became famous for. “At last we have privacy! Peter, I am so deelighted you could make it. And very glad Newark had no deaths in the absolutely abysmal weather this winter, unlike poor Maine last month. The sea can be so cruel and unforgiving, like life itself.”
He referred to the Maine, which had men go overboard, lost forever, in another terrible winter storm off the Carolinas three weeks earlier. Other ships in her squadron, including Newark, had several men badly injured. Fortunately, none of ours died. We’d been lucky.
“Yes, we try to mitigate it, but the danger is always there,” I said. “Part of going to sea.”
The patented full dental smile spread across Theodore’s face. Whether it is involuntary or calculated I’ve never deduced, but it always disarms the most prepared opponent or jaded friend.
“Well! You and your men are safe and sound now. I think you know, Peter, how much Edith loves having you visit Sagamore Hill. And the children are absolutely enthralled by your sea stories. I am too! How is your dearest Maria? And how are those accomplished children of yours?”
It is impossible to remain depressed around a fellow like this, and I heard myself responding in a similar upbeat attitude. “Maria’s letters say she’s quite well, Theodore. Thank you for asking. Of course she’ll want to hear all about how you and your family are doing, and I’ll be pleased to give her a positively glowing report. That’ll be in a week or so, when I go on leave. My children are well. Useppa is thirty-two now. She and her husband Mario are still living in Tampa, where he practices law. He gets his American citizenship pretty soon. Sean is twenty-nine and a lieutenant in Olympia out on the China Station. By all accounts, he has a good reputation, though I fear his sense of humor may sometimes get the best of him.”
To change the topic, I asked, “So, enough about me and mine, Theodore. How’s police work these days?”
His brow furrowed and the rocking stopped. “Not very good, Peter. Oh, the policemen are doing their work much more efficiently and honestly. We’ve added sixteen hundred fine young fellows, chosen by merit instead of money. They are armed better now with standardized pistols, and their operations much more efficient . . .”
He turned in the chair to face me squarely and leaned forward. The right Rooseveltian index finger, known to so many campaign audiences, shot upward to accentuate his next words.
“But, the sinister dark shadow of political machine chicanery has descended once again over the department. This fellow Parker is the obstructor in chief and my main foe, backed by the criminal class, and his intransigence on the board of commissioners has stymied all my good efforts. He should immediately be dismissed in disgrace! But I am backed, to misuse the word, by city leaders, to misuse another word, who have the spines of jellyfish, so the miscreant remains in his seat on the commission. I can’t move forward! This is extremely frustrating, Peter, to say the very least. Why, in Heaven’s name, can’t these people demonstrate some backbone and do the right thing? If not as a rule, then for one day? Get out the deadwood, I say to men who haven’t got the gumption to do anything but sit and talk and go to parties. Frustrating!”
Roosevelt could rant forever, so I asked directly, “Theodore, it’s getting rather late. What did you want to talk to me about? You said crucial naval matters were afoot.”
The furrow evaporated and the grin returned. “Precisely! I’ll get right to the point. Times are a-changing and we are moving forward for a modern navy. W
hich is exactly why you and I needed to talk tonight. You need to know I am going to be running the navy soon.”
That’s not what I’d read in the morning papers. “Now Theodore . . . the president-elect has already designated his secretary of the navy, and it isn’t you.”
He dismissively waved a hand and harrumphed. He began rocking again. “Yes, yes, of course. And former Governor John D. Long of Massachusetts is a fine old gentleman of impeccable political pedigree who will sit in that cabinet seat. But as fine an old fellow as he is, Governor Long has no understanding of the navy, no interest in it, and no vision for what it can and should be. Plus, he has no familiarity with current world affairs.”
I agreed entirely, though I wasn’t about to say it. Long was about to be my superior and I was not going to be dragged into a disparaging conversation about the man. So I interrupted Roosevelt before things got worse.
“Theodore, first off, we need to set the record straight. Governor Long isn’t that old—he’s only half a year older than me. It’s you who is young—twenty years younger than me. And Long is an intelligent and accomplished man. Phi Beta Kappa at Harvard, like you, and former governor of a major state, Massachusetts. It was your close friend, Senator Lodge of Massachusetts, who helped get McKinley to give him the position. And as for being a politician, you sound like the pot calling the kettle black, my friend.”
“Peter Wake, that sort of blunt talk is why I have always listened to you! But those valid points aside, we both know he will be an absentee overlord for the navy. And we both know the real power will reside in his assistant secretary—don’t we? Now, my older and wiser friend, who do you suppose that will be?”
I was stunned. The political bosses despised Roosevelt. They would never let him have such a powerful post. The naval shipbuilding contracts alone were worth millions of dollars, and Theodore would insist on them actually going to the best companies. He had alienated damned near all of Washington when he was Civil Service Commissioner under Republican President Harrison, and subsequently under Democratic President Cleveland. It was completely impossible any of them would allow him back. Ludicrous to even entertain the notion.
An Honorable War Page 3
