As if he hadn’t injected enough woe into White House councils, Shafter sent an early-afternoon cable on Sunday reporting that Cervera had bolted from Santiago harbor with his entire fleet and made good his escape. Apparently unmindful of the strategic disaster this represented, he expressed satisfaction that the admiral’s big naval guns were no longer in position to menace his troops. Fortunately, though not surprisingly, Shafter had fired off his message without knowing what he was talking about. Cervera had in fact attempted an escape, but the outcome had not been as Shafter reported. Official word arrived at Washington from Sampson: “The fleet under my command offers the nation as a Fourth of July present the whole of Cervera’s fleet. It attempted to escape at 9:30 this morning. At 2 the last ship, the Cristobal Colon, had run ashore 75 miles west of Santiago and hauled down her colors. The Infanta Maria Teresa, Oquendo, and Vizcaya were forced ashore, burned, and blown up within 20 miles of Santiago. The Furor and Pluton destroyed within 4 miles of the port.”
Sampson didn’t mention in his report that, when Cervera made his break, Sampson himself had been in conference with Shafter at Siboney and hence the man in charge was his old rival, Commodore Schley, commanding his flagship, the Brooklyn. Rushing back aboard his own flagship, the New York, Sampson missed most of the battle but got to the scene in time to join the chase for the Cristobal Colon. As he passed the harbor entrance, Sampson ordered the big battleships, the Iowa and the Indiana, to resume their positions off the harbor entrance to prevent two remaining Spanish ships at Santiago from leaving the harbor and menacing U.S. transport vessels at Siboney. The Sampson report struck a discordant note with some in the navy who felt that he sought to take undue credit for a victory that more properly belonged to Schley. This issue, along with some questions about a key Schley maneuver during the battle, would intensify the Sampson-Schley antagonism in coming months and create something of a national spectacle.
But in the immediate afterglow of victory, the nation rejoiced. The New York Times said the news was received at Washington “like splendid sunlight bursting through low-hanging clouds.” McKinley promptly released to the public his message to Sampson: “You have the gratitude and congratulations of the whole American people. Convey to your noble officers and crews, through whose valor new honors have been added to the Americans, the grateful thanks and appreciation of the Nation.”
The Times added that the victory was particularly welcome given the “discouraged tone” of Shafter’s message of the day before, which the White House had released to the public after striking out the general’s suggestion that he might withdraw his troops from his hard-won perimeter. “When . . . General Shafter from his invalid’s couch admitted the hopelessness of the fight he was waging and called for help,” wrote the Times, “the somber side of the war for the first time showed itself.”
But now even Shafter could see that the Schley-Sampson victory changed the calculus of military power around Santiago. Before dawn he demanded the surrender of Santiago, and the next day he cabled Washington, “I shall hold my present position.” After entering into negotiations with General José Toral (Linares had been wounded in battle), Shafter informed Washington that he expected an unconditional surrender soon. To buck up the general—and curtail his repeated references to his ill health—McKinley got Alger and Corbin to cable him a message expressing “sorrow and anxiety” about his infirmity and suggesting, “[You] must determine whether your condition is such as to require you to relinquish command.” That was the end of Shafter’s health complaints.
But not the end of his questionable judgment. On July 8 he wired the War Department recommending that the United States accept Toral’s terms of surrender, which included U.S. permission that his troops repair to another Cuban location with their equipment and weapons. Shafter argued that many of Toral’s troops would disperse into the countryside, thus preventing widespread bloodshed by obviating the need for an attack on the city and protecting his troops from a likely onslaught of yellow fever. McKinley was incredulous. He asked Corbin to draft a response, then edited it heavily and had it sent out over Corbin’s signature. Noting that Shafter had predicted an unconditional surrender, the message went on, “Under these circumstances, your message recommending that Spanish troops be permitted to evacuate and proceed without molestation . . . is a great surprise and is not approved.” After reflection McKinley concluded the message had been inadequate, so he fostered a follow-up communication with a more direct repudiation: “What you went to Santiago for was the Spanish army. If you allow it to evacuate with its arms you must meet it somewhere else. This is not war.”
There followed days of give-and-take between Shafter and Toral, with Washington closely following the discussions and keeping Shafter within McKinley’s strict parameters. When General Miles arrived at Siboney to offer on-site guidance, he quickly embraced Shafter’s soft approach and joined in recommending acceptance of another Toral offer that couldn’t pass muster at Washington. McKinley correctly saw that Toral was stalling in hopes that delay would bolster his bargaining position. But he had to respond when Miles reported on July 13 that there had been a hundred cases of yellow fever in the command “and the opinion of the surgeon [is] that it will spread rapidly.”
The president promptly called a Cabinet meeting, with top military officials present, to discuss the situation. The nearly three-hour session revealed growing impatience within the administration and a consensus that Shafter and Miles were being bluffed by the Spanish general. It was agreed that the generals should be instructed to attack Santiago with full force “unless in your judgment an assault would fail.” They also formulated plans to remove troops to high ground as soon as Santiago was captured. Even before getting the word, Miles and Shafter could see the direction of things. They gave Toral twenty-four hours to capitulate or face a naval bombardment of the city. That led to two days of further negotiations, culminating in Toral’s capitulation on July 17. An offer from McKinley to transport Toral’s troops home to Spain helped ease the way for the settlement. The Spanish officers also were allowed to keep their sidearms as a final U.S. concession.
With Santiago subdued, Miles took an army to conquer Puerto Rico, the small Caribbean archipelago whose main island, encompassing 5,320 square miles, was less than a tenth the size of Cuba. Miles accomplished his mission in two weeks following a July 25 landing at Guánica. The general brought the main island under his control except for the capital city of San Juan, which remained isolated and unthreatening. There were few casualties, and unlike Shafter, Miles managed his troop transport and supply challenges with smooth efficiency. But few newspapermen covered the campaign, and Americans reacted with a kind of ho-hum pride following the more stunning victories in the Philippines and Cuba.
* * *
FEW EPISODES IN McKinley’s career reflected more distinctly the man’s political and managerial style than his leadership of the war effort. Never inclined toward bombast or overt take-charge exhibitions, he displayed his normal indirect methods of management—listening more than talking, delegating to subordinates the execution of major decisions, soliciting opinions and advice from many sources while keeping his own counsel until it came time for decision making. Nor did he allow himself to get waylaid by the minutiae of the war enterprise.
Yet no one in Washington maintained a more detailed understanding of the big issues emanating from the war, and no one deflected him from his chosen path. “He is the strong man of the Cabinet, the dominating force,” wrote Cortelyou, who probably occupied the position of closest vantage over the president’s behavior. While McKinley carefully sought the views of his top military leaders, particularly Long and Alger, he also made clear that he would be the final arbiter on major decisions—and often on their execution as well. “No orders of importance were issued, from either the War or Navy Department, without his full knowledge and approval,” wrote Charles Sumner Olcott, an early biographer who conducted extensive interviews with McKinle
y associates, “and these were often revised by him.”
As usual, he fixed his attention on the large goals emerging from the challenges that descended upon him. He never displayed the Roosevelt-Mahan-Lodge zeal in behalf of American sea power—and certainly never talked in their idiom of national grandeur. Yet when the war he sought to avoid became inevitable, he quickly employed that new navy to insert American power into faraway Asia and the nearby Caribbean in ways never before seen. Perceiving clearly the political and military dangers in a protracted war, he moved aggressively to pummel the enemy and thus end the conflict as quickly and decisively as possible.
Now, with four major victories within three months, he faced the question of what kind of peace he wished to fashion—and what kind of America would emerge from those victories. For the short term, everyone knew what would happen: Spain would sue for peace, and America would exact a heavy price that would severely curtail the Iberian nation’s global reach. For the longer term, it wasn’t so clear, but few expected America to retreat to its position of old upon the North American continent. A British commentator named Henry Norman, writing in the London Chronicle, foresaw a new fate for George Washington’s famous admonition to his nation, “Avoid foreign entanglements.” This warning, said Norman, now “ceases to be the compass of the statesman and becomes the curio of the historian.” Whether McKinley shared that view remained, at this point, an open question. But a hint emerged from a scrap of paper upon which the president scribbled, “While we are conducting war and until its conclusion, we must keep all we get; when the war is over we must keep what we want.”
— 20 —
End of Hostilities
“THE PRESIDENT HAS HAD HIS WAY AS USUAL”
Around noon on July 26, 1898, Secretary of State Day got word that French ambassador Jules Cambon wished to meet with him and President McKinley as soon as possible. Day called the president, who set an afternoon meeting for three-thirty. Cambon arrived at the appointed hour with his assistant, Eugene Thiebault, and was ushered into the White House library. He informed the president that he came not representing France but as a special envoy of her majesty, the queen regent of Spain. He had a communication from Spain’s Foreign Office, he said, and with the president’s indulgence Thiebault would read it. McKinley nodded his assent.
The document began with typical cloying diplomatic language about Spain’s war motivation being “the vindication of her prestige, her honor, her name,” even in the face of “such uneven strife” as that presented by America’s military might. But finally it got to the point: “Spain is prepared to spare Cuba from the continuation of the horrors of war if the United States are on their part likewise disposed.” After the reading, Cambon praised America’s brilliant military triumph and suggested the country’s “glory and honor” couldn’t rise higher through continued struggle. He called on McKinley to grant Spain “liberal and honorable terms.”
McKinley expressed interest in pursuing peace and said he would consult his Cabinet and others and report back in a few days. Perceiving an ambiguity in the statement, Day asked whether Spain wanted to settle merely the Cuban matter or all points of dispute (meaning, most significantly, the disposition of the Philippines). Cambon said he thought it was the latter, and McKinley indicated that would be a requirement. Upon Cambon’s departure, McKinley authorized Cortelyou to inform the newspapers of Spain’s peace overture, thus locking Madrid into the process it had commenced.
That night the president scribbled out his terms on a piece of paper for future reference. There was a certain diplomatic audacity in what he wrote, as it required that Spain relinquish both Cuba and Puerto Rico as conditions of the United States merely entering into talks. “This requirement,” wrote the president, “will admit of no negotiation.” The matter of the Philippines, he added, could be settled through peace talks.
Over the next four days McKinley presided over Cabinet discussions at the White House and aboard a lighthouse tender during a Potomac cruise. He called Attorney General Griggs back from vacation. He discussed the matter with numerous members of Congress and summoned the thoughts of John Hay and other U.S. diplomats. Throughout the discussions, he kept his own thinking to himself. While he encountered extensive agreement that Spain should give up Cuba and Puerto Rico, the Philippines generated some dispute. Among Cabinet members, Griggs, Bliss, and Wilson favored U.S. possession of the entire archipelago, while Long, Day, and Gage advocated the acquisition merely of the port of Manila. Alger offered no firm advocacy, and the new postmaster general, Charles Emory Smith, mostly remained silent.
Throughout the discussions, McKinley goaded both sides, drawing out arguments and ensuring that all considerations got equal treatment. He chided the secretary of state for his limited view of the Philippine opportunity. “Judge Day only wants a hitching post,” he said. But he also ribbed Agriculture Secretary Wilson for his expansionist zeal, saying “Yes, you Scotch favor keeping everything—including the Sabbath.” When Day pointed out that the president hadn’t put to a vote his call for confining the country’s Philippine ambitions to a Manila naval base, the president quipped, “No, I was afraid it would be carried.”
Employing such dexterous banter the president kept the discussion going, and his own thinking obscure, through various iterations of the reply. An early version called for America to get merely a naval station at Manila and another at the Ladrone Islands (later the Marianas) in the western Pacific. But ultimately the Cabinet agreed to leave the Philippine question to the peace negotiators.
Thus the final version demanded, first, that Spain relinquish Cuban sovereignty and evacuate the island immediately; second, that in lieu of a pecuniary indemnity Spain must grant to the United States Puerto Rico and all surrounding islands as recompense for its “losses and expenses . . . incident to the war” and also an island in the Ladrones to be selected by the United States; third, the United States would occupy and hold Manila, city and harbor, pending the final settlement, “which shall determine the control, disposition, and government of the Philippines.”
That was precisely what McKinley wanted, as reflected in his scribbled note of July 26. When Cortelyou remarked that the final version represented an impressive collaboration, McKinley smiled knowingly, pulled from his pocket his earlier note, and handed it to the secretary. “The final changes in that document were largely his own,” wrote Cortelyou later. Charles Dawes, following the deliberations closely, added, “The President has had his way as usual.”
But it wasn’t clear he would have his way with Madrid. On Saturday, July 30, the White House sent word to Cambon that the president would see him that afternoon at two. When the minister and his secretary appeared, McKinley asked Day to read the U.S. response. Upon hearing it, Cambon said he had expected a more magnanimous reply. After all, the United States had never expressed concerns about Spanish rule over Puerto Rico.
The president replied that he wouldn’t entertain any discussion leading to modifications. Puerto Rico would have to be relinquished.
Cambon said he thought Spanish officials might accept the loss of Cuba and Puerto Rico, as well as their smaller West Indies islands. But McKinley’s expansive demands would raise suspicions in Madrid that the United States wanted all of the Philippines.
The president, projecting a transparently insincere coyness, said the fate of the Philippines would depend upon the treaty to be negotiated by the two countries’ commissioners and ratified by their legislatures. The ambassador responded by reading the paragraph on the Philippines.
“These are very harsh terms,” he said.
McKinley asked: In what particulars?
Replied Cambon: They might lead to U.S. acquisition of the full archipelago.
No, replied the president, the terms don’t say that; it would be left to the negotiators.
Cambon’s skepticism was well-placed. After all, the U.S. commissioners would be under the president’s sway, while Spain’s commissioners w
ould not be negotiating from a position of strength. But McKinley was genuinely conflicted on the question. He wanted more time to ponder it, more information to bolster his thinking, and full flexibility of decision making. His approach gave him all three.
Four days later the same four men met again in the White House library at 3:45. Cambon said Madrid considered the president’s terms “very severe.” He asked if Puerto Rico could be substituted by some other island. “To this,” wrote Day later, “the President promptly answered that it could not be.” Cambon said Spanish officials feared the United States would insist upon taking the entire Philippine archipelago. While Madrid would cede some territory there, he said, Spain felt its suzerainty “should not be interfered with.”
The president responded that he would yield nothing. That led to discussions on how many commissioners should be named on each side (the president recommended five) and the venue of negotiations (he argued for Washington, while Cambon suggested a neutral location, perhaps Paris, would be more appropriate). McKinley said he would get back to Cambon on those matters later in the day.
That night he sent Day to Cambon’s residence to say he still wished for five commissioners on each side, but Paris would be acceptable as the locus of negotiations. He emphasized, though, that Spanish acceptance of his terms meant an immediate evacuation of Cuba and Puerto Rico—no postponement pending the outcome of the negotiations. Cambon once again expressed chagrin at the American intransigence but said he understood the terms and would convey them to Madrid.
President McKinley Page 36
