I waited without comment. Theodore’s face calmed. “What about the European powers?”
“Brits are with us, sir. French and Dutch are neutral. Germans are officially neutral, but quietly pro-Spanish. They now have three warships in the area, with another heading there. They would be an added problem in the event of war.”
“That would be to their regret. Is this the end of your report?”
“Yes, sir. ”
Nodding his acknowledgment, he said, “Very good, Captain Wake.”
Whenever Theodore called me by my rank in a private conversation, I knew something unpleasant was coming. He sprung it on me in typical Rooseveltian style—in Latin.
“It appears all the foregoing leads to a significant question. Quo vadis, Pretus? Has the time come to shift from reporting actions to making them?”
Quo vadis, Pretus? I dredged the recesses of my educational memory to come up with the definition. Ah, yes, it came back to me. Conjugating verbs in Mr. Stonehead’s Latin class, when I was fifteen. I hated Latin class, but did recall the meaning. Where are you going, Peter?
Two could play this silly game, so I answered in my bad French, which I knew was far better than Roosevelt’s atrocious French. “Pour trouver la victorie, sans effusion de sang.”
To find victory, without the spilling of blood.
“Ah! A dreamer to the end!” he exclaimed. “May it be so on this Christmas Eve.”
He whispered his next words in a grimly determined tone. “Still, Peter, if and when war is imminent, I’ll need a level headed American naval man, or two, already inside Cuba. Men I can trust completely. So be ready, for soon you and Rork will have to go there.”
Rork and I had discussed this very thing, appreciating the smoldering situation in Cuba even better than Theodore Roosevelt and guessing at our mission when the inevitable happened.
The thought greatly saddened me—I would be returning to the brutal insanity of war, against my dearly beloved wife’s own people. What would she think of me?
Quo vadis, indeed.
13
Two Dollars
1819 N Street
Washington D.C.
6 p.m., Wednesday
12 January 1898
Nineteen days later, Rork and I were in the study of Roosevelt’s new home in Washington, a mile north of his office. Normally we, like Theodore, walked the route. However, due to the urgency of our task, and the Arctic blizzard raging outside, I had Rork dragoon an army carriage from the secretary of war’s staff livery. Some general would not be amused and complain, but in the meantime we arrived warm, dry, and in great style. The driver thought it a delicious joke.
We weren’t the only ones thus transported. Across the street from Theodore’s place, at the famed British Legation, elegant carriages carrying the highborn were lined up by the curb, waiting to disembark their passengers for a posh dinner party.
Roosevelt had gone home early to be with his wife Edith, who had been very ill lately. His young sons Ted and Kermit were sick also. The seriousness of Edith’s condition was indicated by Theodore’s cancelling his attendance at the annual dinner of his beloved Boone and Crockett Club, which he founded a decade earlier, up in New York City.
The cook answered the door and solemnly bid us to enter, the nanny and maid being upstairs nursing the various invalids, and the butler off seeking medicines at the pharmacy. The place was unnaturally quiet, apart from a cough or moan, and the constant bawling of two-month old Quentin. It was quite a different scene than the usual Roosevelt domestic ambience of laughter, running footsteps, and strident proclamations.
“How is she?” I asked when we walked into his study. It was smaller than his office at Sagamore Hill, but just as crammed with books, charts, and dead animals. Waning flames crackled in the fireplace at one end and the gasoliers were turned low. He was seated at his desk, hands resting on an open astronomy book.
There had been a five-hour-long partial lunar eclipse several nights earlier. The day after the eclipse, Roosevelt had taken great glee in describing the earth’s umbral shadow covering part of the moon. The most exuberant part of his tale was showing us, by word and gesture, an image he understood well: “It was as if a chunk of the moon had been bitten out by a giant predator!”
But now the exuberance was gone, and Theodore looked more depressed than I’d ever seen him. He gestured to some chairs and we sat. His reply was subdued, almost tearful. “Edith is in a bad condition, Peter. Fever won’t go down. Might be typhoid, they’ve told me, but they can’t be sure.”
My heart went out to him. Theodore’s mother had died of typhoid thirteen years earlier, on the very same day, and in the same house which his first wife Alice had died of Bright’s Disease. It was on February fourteenth, and he never celebrated Valentine’s Day again. My first wife Linda had died of cancer that same day, four years before Roosevelt’s tragedy. It was a sad bond between us.
“How are the children?” I asked.
“The girls seem to be fine. Ted’s condition is mostly nervous exhaustion, they think. Kermit is simply sick with a child’s cold. Quentin is upset over his mother not being with him.”
He paused, glanced down at the pile of papers beside the book and shook his head. “And here is yet another challenge for me—one arranged by the bureaucrats of the state of New York, who insinuate I have been less than accurate in documenting my place of residence and paying my taxes. These parasitic, pencil-necked, paper-pushers in Albany seem to specialize in the Chinese lingchi method of death by a thousand little cuts. Oh, give me a charging cougar and I know precisely what to do. But these . . . mindless fools, devoid of logic. How do I deal with them?”
I interrupted him. “We have a message, sir.”
“Yes, you said as much on the telephone, and that it was confidential. Our Sugar Consortium, I presume? More about the Spanish mine which exploded in Havana harbor last week?”
“Concerning the mine, I got a cable this afternoon from agent R94, who heard from his source it was an accidental power surge to an electrical mine near the Spanish naval station’s floating dock. But that’s not why we are here, sir. It’s because of a message from Consul-General Lee in Havana. He sent the special coded phrase requesting help in a cable to Key West. The anti-American riots are spreading and expected to get worse.”
Roosevelt wasn’t subdued anymore. He nearly sprang from his chair. “What! He sent the ‘two dollars’ phrase? Lee’s requesting a warship? Finally, by Jove, we have something decisive by somebody! Bully for him! Hmm, this means things are getting desperate, indeed. When exactly did this cable come in?”
“We received it from Captain Sigsbee in Key West an hour ago. Secretary Long has seen it and walked over to the mansion to tell the president. He’s still there now. They are evaluating the options available to the president.”
Invigorated by events in Cuba evolving as he had predicted, Roosevelt pounded the desk and began rattling off commands. “Options? What options? We know what to do! We’ve already planned out what to do! The first thing we must do is immediately gather all of our ships and configure their squadrons into fighting formations. They are far too scattered hither and yon by themselves, and thus are incapable of decisive action. Concentrate the North Atlantic Squadron at Key West. Concentrate the European Squadron at Cherbourg. Concentrate the Asiatic Squadron at Hong Kong. There is no time to waste, gentlemen.”
He leaped up and headed for the fireplace, where he started pacing, his orders increasing in velocity and volume. Rork and I remained seated, neither of us taking notes. They weren’t needed. We’d heard it all before, ad nauseam, during his discussions of various war plans which had long been on the books. I agreed with his views, but the problem with setting the plans into motion was two-fold. First, we weren’t at the confrontational stage requiring a war order yet. Second, the civilian leadership of the cou
ntry didn’t understand what was needed for modern naval warfare, especially the required logistics. Even worse, they didn’t want to know.
With only the briefest pause for breath, Theodore resumed his oration. “Each captain must immediately fill their ship’s bunkers with the highest grade coal, and their magazines with all the ammunition and powder charges they will hold. Provisions and medicines must be brought aboard, and all woodwork and extraneous flammable materials must be discarded forthwith. Every ship in the navy must go on war alert from this instant, everywhere in the world. Stop all enlisted discharges, commissioned officer retirements, and activate the state naval militias.”
He suddenly stopped pacing, his jaw clenched. Cleaning his spectacles, he asked, “Well, what do you two think of this development?”
“It’s a riot, not an act of war, sir,” I said, trying to lower the temperature in the room. “The request was for the Maine to visit Havana as a stabilizing force, not attack the city. And Secretary Long is waiting for the president’s decision. I do agree the navy needs to be alerted and readied for action, but concentrating the squadrons would take Secretary Long’s approval and send the kind of signal the president has repudiated repeatedly to date. Remember, no Americans have been hurt in this rioting, and the whole thing may subside in a few days.”
My opinion was not what he wanted to hear. “Humph. Duly noted. Now, what about the Havana defense plans we’re working on? We need those.”
“Thought we’d have them by now, but staff changes at Spanish army headquarters have delayed us.”
Roosevelt swung his gaze to Rork, who had assumed the stoic pose of a veteran petty officer in the midst of senior officers. “Well, what exactly do you think we should do in Cuba?”
“Oooh, methinks `tis not for the simple likes o’ me to venture into that sort o’ nasty political mess, sir—too bloody many snakes in striped pants. Me superiors know far more than an old bluejacket about such things.”
“That sounds like obfuscation, Rork,” said Roosevelt sternly. “I expect plain talk from officers and enlisted. Especially from the both of you, of all people. I asked for your opinion, so give it to me.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Rork replied, unfazed by the admonishment. “Me opinion is the same as the Captain’s. Never go to war `till you’re sure you’re in the right, an’ there’s no other way to get what needs to be gotten. Then, if war be the call, kill every one o’ the bastards as fast as you can, an’ get the damned thing over with. Methinks we’re in the right an’ those Spaniardo buggers’re in the wrong, but we’ve not yet made certain there’s no other way to get what needs to be gotten.”
“Which is?”
“Cuba free of Spain, sir.”
“We’ve tried to buy the blasted place from them several times, Rork, but Madrid refuses to even discuss the offer.”
“Not us buyin’ the island, sir, but let the Cubans be free o’ everybody, includin’ us.”
“No matter—Madrid won’t let go. We’ve called attention to their atrocities and warned them time and again! But they ignore us. Cuba is our neighbor, and we cannot ignore the suffering there! And I, for one, will not ignore it, or permit it any longer. I will resign tomorrow morning and volunteer to lead American men to liberate that island from the yoke of bondage! I have military skills useful in the cavalry, and should find no problem in getting a posting. Maybe I should form my own outfit. I could do so quite easily from the tough men I know out West. Oh, the Spanish will rue this day!”
Theodore has military skills? I thought that statement a bit too much. Rork glanced at me with a look which conveyed, “Help me with him.”
I stood up and said, “Theodore, you want candor? Then here it is. Yes, a terrible war is coming, but please don’t succumb to using jingoism to speed it up. Keep in mind the reality of the situation in Latin America. Atrocities? We ignore them all the time, particularly when U.S. business money is involved, even inside our closest neighbor, Mexico.”
Losing the wind from his sails, Roosevelt was mute with shock. Next, I addressed his most egregious error in professional judgment. “And what the hell is this about resigning your office? You have the skills and insight and energy we’ll sorely need when we do go to war—don’t waste them playing soldier and wandering around in the Cuban jungle. I want and need you here, in control of our navy. Secretary Long has no clue what to do—but you do.”
And now to the most intimate point. “There is a personal side to this as well. Honor has many depths, but the deepest is to one’s family. You have a wife and several small children now. Your wife is upstairs and seriously ill. She needs you right here, now. How dare you abandon them for personal glory?”
I sat down again. “There, I’ve had my say . . . sir.”
He sat down too, staring at me. The bravado had evaporated from him when he finally spoke. “Well, I did ask and thank you for your advice. Rork, it is true we are not yet at the point demanding naval action, and other ways can be used at this stage. Peter, yes, my wife does need me right now, as does Secretary Long. Any decision regarding my role in this war will take them into account. But there are things we in the navy can, and must, now set into motion. We must be prepared when the worst happens—as we know it will. The two of you are crucial to our success.”
Here it comes, I thought, knowing what his next words would be. We’d already worked out the scheme of what to do when the international situation reached this point.
Theodore’s right fist impacted the left hand. “It is time to implement our plan! I am sending you both into Cuba, effective immediately. We’ve not much time. I need those Havana defense plans, your study of the potential offensive operations area, and your general assessment of the situation on the island. Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, I will write out your orders and have a final meeting with you. I expect you inside Cuba within a week. Understood?”
Rork and I echoed our acknowledgment. I stood to go, telling my young boss, “We’ll get you the information, sir. Please make sure it’s used wisely.”
Rork and I parted ways outside the home. He flagged down a cabriolet, bound for the Navy Yard. I headed for the train station and the short trip home to Maria, who knew nothing of what was about to happen, but was fully aware of the tension in Cuba. I dreaded telling her I was leaving for an anonymous place and undetermined duration.
As he climbed aboard, Rork, who somehow knows my thoughts, quietly said, “Courage, me friend. Just remember this, she’s got a heart o’ oak, an’ fully knew what she was gettin’ into when she married the likes o’ you, even though she mayn’t show it tonight.”
14
Mending a Broken Heart
Woodgerd Cottage
Admiral’s Road
Arlington, Virginia
10 p.m., Wednesday
12 January 1898
I should have known. The signs were there, right in front of me, but my mind was in Cuba. A rudimentary marital error.
Maria had one of my favorite dinners waiting for when I walked through the door. The sweet earthy aroma of a paella Valenciana greeted me inside the cozy cottage. At the table was a bottle of Duero red wine from central Spain, with a complex and heady scent. It all transformed my attitude by the time I sat down.
So did the lady’s appearance. Maria’s classic beauty was set off by a simple but very flattering yellow cotton dress, her long dark hair cascading down around her shoulders in the Spanish style. I lingered over dinner, savoring the paella, the wine, the after-dinner Spanish brandy from Jérez, and the exotic lady who looked at me with such admiration. Cherishing each and every moment, I knew there would be times in the near future when these memories would be my sole connection to sanity and peace.
Finally, I summoned my courage and gave the speech I’d practiced on the train ride home. “I have news, dear. Just got orders tonight from Roosevelt, which is why I was running la
te. Rork and I leave tomorrow for Norfolk and out to sea. Not sure for how long, but probably not more than four months. An assessment job, like I’ve done a hundred times before.”
Her face lost its softness. “The means you will be spying inside Cuba, does it not?”
When I first met Maria in 1892 while commanding Bennington, then staff duty in the mid-90s in Washington, and likewise when commanding Newark in recent years, I would frequently tell her humorous anecdotes from my work. Those pleasant days were a stark contrast to the current state of affairs, however.
For the past year, I’d worked on clandestine projects for Roosevelt. I didn’t have many funny stories about the office, and never spoke in any detail of what I actually did. I kept my work segregated from our married life.
Maria never asked particulars. I never volunteered them. It was our modus vivendi, which I now attempted to maintain through ambiguity. The moment it came out, I knew I’d made a mistake.
“Not absolutely sure of what and where my duties will be, dear, except an assessment of the situation in the North Atlantic Squadron’s area of responsibility. I never discuss specific duties anyway, as you are well aware.”
She looked down at the dish before her. It was from her mother’s set of formal china, hand painted in a classical Moorish gold leaf design. With the slightest sniffle, she traced the design with a finger, touching her family’s past.
Her voice began to tremble. “You spoke to me, Peter, but you never answered my question. And did it not cross your mind to ask how I am? Or how I’ve been feeling lately?”
It hit me then. The entire ambience of the evening, from her attire to the china to the dinner, was classical Spanish. Maria read the newspapers, kept up with developments in Europe, Cuba, and Latin America. She corresponded with friends and family in Havana, Madrid, and Seville. She knew exactly what was going on. But it was more than a frigid January in North America, more than her missing her native culture or worrying over Spanish-Cuban politics.
An Honorable War Page 7
