The Austrians got tipsy more pleasantly than any people I have ever seen. Many people the moment they get a little too much become quarrelsome. If there is one duty that I have always detested it is taking care of drunks; it has more than once almost made me a prohibitionist. The Austrians, when they began to feel lively, didn’t insult other people. They sang. And they COULD sing. It was like being in the midst of an operetta.
Once while away from my Austrian friends, I made the acquaintance of an attractive girl named Margo who took me out to see the famous hunting lodge at Mayerling. Here a few years before the Crown Prince Rudolph, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, took his seventeen-year-old sweetheart Baroness Marie Vetsera. The next morning Rudolph and Marie were found dead. No one knows what happened. Some said they had a suicide pact. Another was that Rudolph told his teenage sweetheart that he was breaking off the affair so she shot him and then herself. A third was that Marie had a lover who killed them both. If you cared to ask around, you could undoubtedly have picked up a dozen more theories. Anyhow, it is a romantic and tragic story.
The next morning, Margo left before I was awake and when I got up, I found that all my money was gone. As my leave was expiring, I was obliged to catch a train to Trieste that day. My Austrian officer friends dropped in to see me and when they heard what had happened, assured me they could recover my money. They did, a few hours later, less ten percent. As one explained to me, “That is all she is entitled to. That girl is a bum.” I wondered where he got his colloquial American English. They put me on board the train to make sure “you do not get involved with any other women” and we all said goodbye after one of the most enjoyable leaves I have ever had.
Shortly afterwards, we sailed for the United States. It had been a highly successful goodwill tour.
When we arrived in Newport, Rhode Island, I learned that there was trouble in Cuba. A revolution had taken place and President Tomas Estrada Palma had issued a warning that he could no longer protect American lives or property. I heard that the Brooklyn, Schley’s flagship at Santiago, was fitting out at Philadelphia for “special temporary duty” at the scene of the disturbances. I applied for duty on board her and was lucky enough to be accepted; I had served under her commanding officer, Captain Heilner before and he remembered me. When we sailed we took five hundred marines with us as well as the regular ship’s complement of bluejackets. I was very excited and sure I’d see some action.
On the way, we ran into a storm during which our chief boatswains mate, Sonneman, was swept overboard. The ship was making twenty knots at the time with a stern wind adding to our speed. In attempting to launch the starboard lifeboat the detaching apparatus failed to function; the crew was in the boat seated on the thwarts ready to man the oars but the fall blocks didn’t detach simultaneously; the stern one stuck, and the bow of the boat dropped sharply, dumping the crew into the wild sea. I could see them, some below, some above the surface, gripping the grab ropes while they were being towed through the water by the forward motion of the ship, for our backing engines had not as yet checked our headway.
Instead of being rescuers, they now had to be rescued themselves. There were a number of men of my division nearby, and I called for volunteers to man the port lifeboat. We were lowered safely, but in the rough sea, it was impossible to find all the men, and I had to go over the side after them. Fortunately, I am a good swimmer so we were able to save them all. Afterward, we spent an hour searching for poor Sonneman but without success. He was probably killed when he struck the water.
Soldier drowning and being rescued by naval boat crew.
Captain Heilner was kind enough to make an entry on my record: “As usual, always the first to volunteer for dangerous duty.” This did something to counterbalance the unkind comments I’d acquired on the European cruise.
We headed directly for Havana passing Morro Castle (there are two Morro castles: one in Santiago and one here) and anchored not far from the wreck of the Maine, the American flag flying from her mainmast which still showed above the water. There was great excitement with troops and ships arriving from every direction. The troops were commanded by Funston, the celebrated captor of Aguinaldo, who had led the Philippine insurrection. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, the uprising was virtually over. It had been put down almost entirely by the efforts of one man: Captain Colwell of the cruiser Denver, which had been rushed to the city some days before.
What had happened was this: The rebel forces (or the Liberals as they preferred to call themselves) had taken over most of the island and then marched on the capital under such leaders as General Guerra, General Loynay del Castillo, and so on. Everyone seemed to be a general. The loyal army had been commanded by General Rodriguez, who marched out to meet them as they approached Havana. He had been defeated and fled leaving his silk embroidered rain coat and 170 men on the field. The rebel forces were said to number 7,000 men, and the remains of the governmental forces was approximately 3,000. It was obvious that the rebels could take Havana whenever they wished.
American sailors landing in Havana.
At this point, the Denver arrived in the harbor. Captain Colwell landed 109 armed sailors who took up a position in front of the presidential palace. Immediately both sides stopped fighting. The bluejackets had rifles and machine guns (the Cubans were mainly armed with revolvers and machetes), were disciplined, and clearly knew what they were doing. Also, the Denver had anchored close to the wharf and her rapid fire 6-pounders were pointed up O’Reilly St. (I never did find out how the main street in Havana came to be named after an Irishman).
Company forming skirmish line on reaching shallow water.
Secretary Taft had accompanied the fleet, and he now went ashore with a guard of several hundred bluejackets and marines. I commanded one landing party. There had been a lot of indiscriminate killing and looting. All the stores and most of the more prosperous houses had been broken into and we passed a number of corpses, several of them little children, but we encountered no resistance. Later I learned that the rebels had offered to surrender to Captain Colwell but he had refused, not being authorized to accept it. Of course, the rebels had no intention of surrendering to President Palma and his followers. They knew well what their fate would be.
Lt. D. Pratt Mannix with landing party.
Havana was more like Vienna than a captured city. Everywhere there were bands playing, the theaters were full, and the cafés crowded; patrons eating their tortonis and sipping their ices often with a dead body only a few yards away. They were clearly used to violence.
Secretary Taft and his staff occupied the home of our minister, Morgan, in the suburbs. It was a magnificent estate with palm trees, spacious verandas, and an enormous drawing room. I was in command of the Naval Guard stationed to protect our officials. Here Secretary Taft listened to the complaints of President Palma concerning the fiendish brutality of the rebels. When the president had run out of atrocity stories, Taft told him, “Now I want to hear what the rebel leaders have to say.”
Palma was outraged. “We have called you in to protect us. Why listen to rebels?” he demanded. Taft insisted and finally Palma yielded with no good grace. Taft sent out messengers to the rebel army with a promise of safe conduct, and soon half a dozen of them arrived. I was greatly impressed by the fact that the Cubans trusted us to keep our word, although they would never have trusted another Cuban.
The rebel leaders were quite as indignant as the government representatives. They claimed that a recent election in which the government had been returned to office was blatantly fraudulent, government troops even keeping liberals away from the polling booths by force. Taft asked Palma if this was so. “Of course it is,” replied the indignant president. “But we did it for the sake of Cuba. Anyhow, if the Liberals had been in power, they would have done the same thing.” “Would you have?” Taft asked General Castillo, one of the r
ebel leaders. “Naturally, why not?” Castillo asked in surprise.
I had the feeling that Secretary Taft was going to have some trouble making the Cubans understand the basic principles of democracy. One of our greatest mistakes is the belief that all countries want to become democracies when most of them are used to living under an absolute ruler and can conceive of no other system of government. Also, except for a small elite class, the people are illiterate and cannot vote intelligently on national questions. Trying to explain democracy to them is like trying to explain what red looks like to a blind man.
Taft then called for a new election under the auspices of the Cuban Congress, to be supervised by the United States. Both sides angrily refused.
Palma declared, “We could have put down this revolution ourselves without your help. Did you Americans come here only to help our enemies?” This was nonsense. The government could not possibly have put down the uprising; the rebels had easily defeated the army. The rebels, on the other hand, pointed out that they were the conquerors and we were robbing them of the fruits of victory.
Taft remained firm. The congressmen had fled, expecting to be murdered by one side or the other, and had to be rounded up. While they were preparing to appoint an interim government, it was discovered that Palma and his followers had moved up 1,500 soldiers of the Regular Army to wipe out the congressmen if they did not return him to office. In appealing for help, one of the congressmen pleaded, “Without your protection there will be nothing left of us but fragments.” Captain Cowden, the fleet commander, promptly moved in 2,000 marines and sailors who surrounded the capitol building. Thus shielded, the congress was able to appoint a body of moderates to take over the government. Our mission accomplished, we returned to our ships.
We didn’t see any fighting in Cuba, except for the verbal kind. We remained in Havana all that winter and as the presence of our ships and troops gradually exerted a soothing effect on the local turbulence, were able to establish social contacts with the Cuban leaders and their families. The Cuban women are charming; it is a pity that they are so difficult to meet. The conventions of Old Spain are still in force down there. Still, I was able to meet Miss Estrada, the daughter of the president, Miss de la Torre, and a number of others.
I knew a little Spanish and rapidly brushed up on it. I don’t know of a pleasanter or easier way to learn a language than with the help of a pretty girl. Not surprisingly, I made mistakes. Once after being introduced to some distinguished visitors I said with true Castilian courtesy: “Buenos Dios, caballos.” I thought the visitors looked surprised and afterward the embarrassed Miss de la Torre asked me what I was trying to say. I explained, “I said ‘Good day, gentlemen.’ “ “No, you didn’t,” my teacher replied unhappily. “You should have said ‘Buenas dias, caballeros.’ What you did say was, ‘Good God, horses!’ ”
We did have some excitement in Cuba. It took the form of a hurricane, the first I had ever seen and I sincerely hope the last. It not only blew down most of the trees and lamp posts in Havana but also blew the Brooklyn ashore on the Catalina side. It came so quickly and with so little warning that we didn’t even have time to furl the quarterdeck awning, but the hurricane did that for us, getting under the awning and blowing it away. It disappeared to leeward like a great bird carrying a number of the steel stanchions with it and twisting and bending those that remained; these stanchions were of hardened steel and three inches in diameter. Some wind!
When the Brooklyn struck the bottom she took a list of about twenty degrees and we spent the night that way. We got afloat again the next morning without trouble; luckily the bottom was soft mud so, except for clogging our condensers, no damage was done.
We returned to Philadelphia and put the old Brooklyn out of commission. I hated to see her go. It was like saying goodbye to a beloved home. I received another decoration, the Cuban Pacification Medal, conferred upon me for my duties in Havana during the uprising. I hadn’t done much to earn it, but if I ever returned to the courts of Europe, my chest would look a little less bare.
I was not inactive for long. Fresh trouble had broken out in the Philippines. Early in 1907, Rear Admiral Joseph N. Hemphill (formerly captain of the Kearsarge, under whom I had served at Kiel), had been ordered to command the Philippine Squadron of the Pacific Fleet. He asked me if I would go with him to China as his flag lieutenant. Naturally I jumped at the chance, and we left Washington in May, via the Canadian Pacific, enroute to Vancouver where we were to take the Empress of China for Yokohama. I was looking forward to seeing some action, but frankly I saw more of it than I had bargained on.
Mannix at this time.
Chapter 8
The Bamboo Fleet 1907-1908
Oh, I’ve been havin’
A hell of a time
Out in the Philippines.
— The “Governor General’s Song”
For several weeks before leaving Washington I was on duty in the Office of Naval Intelligence studying plans for the defense of the Philippines. Even then, thirty-four years before Pearl Harbor, the Japanese were a menace and we anticipated an attack on Manila and North Luzon. When we left Washington I carried with me highly secret plans for the defense of the islands.
At Vancouver we went on board the Empress of China, one of the Empress Line belonging to the Canadian Pacific Railway. We took the Northern Great Circle on our way to Yokohama and three days after leaving port, land was sighted on the starboard bow. The captain said: “Take your last look at the United States.” What we saw were the Aleutian Islands, so much in the news during World War II. I had never realized before how far they stick out in the Pacific and what a tremendous distance they are from the continental United States. Still, they were American, and it was to be many a long day before I saw American soil again.
As soon as we dropped anchor in Yokohama Harbor, the Japanese customs people swarmed on board. They didn’t subject us to a personal search but they did everything else; they opened every piece of luggage; they opened every box and package, including our toilet cases; they searched our staterooms, even looking between the mattresses. They knew perfectly well that we were an American admiral and his personal staff. They also knew that in all probability we were carrying classified material and they intended to find it.
I had the confidential plans they were looking for. As they were quite bulky, I had put them in my suitcase. If the Japanese found them, as they surely would, I would be held responsible. The plans were far too large to be concealed on my person. They were covered with canvas and were weighted with lead so they could be thrown overboard and sunk if in danger of capture. I thought of tossing them over the side but the water of Yokohama Harbor isn’t deep and a diver probably could have recovered them. I considered demanding “diplomatic immunity” but legally we had no such immunity, and I knew that the Japs would pay no attention to it even if we had. I think I was more frightened at this moment than I have ever been in my life. My position seemed hopeless.
The plans looked much like the Abandon Ship provisions in a lifeboat as these are also covered with canvas. This gave me an idea. While the Japanese were busy searching our staterooms, I slipped the plans under the tarpaulin cover of a nearby lifeboat. To my intense relief, the trick worked and the Japanese, obviously frustrated, had to depart empty handed. Had they found them, I might as well have resigned my commission. I would have been ruined for life.
Admiral Hemphill’s flagship, the Rainbow, was at Yokohama waiting for us. After transferring on board, we proceeded for the Philippines. Three days later we arrived at Olongapo in Northern Luzon. Olongapo is situated on Subic Bay, a fine natural anchorage; at the entrance is a big island, Isla Grande. It and Cavite in Manila Bay were our two main Naval Stations. Besides the Naval Station, there was a local garrison of marines and batteries of ships’ guns mounted ashore.
Perhaps here I should say something of the
political situation. When we went to war with Spain, we did so, as far as I know, with no intention of acquiring colonies; we were merely interested in freeing the Cubans from what seemed to us an oppressive government. The Filipinos at the time were also in rebellion against Spain, and after Dewey’s victory at Manila Bay, we had supported the insurrectos in their seizing Spanish shore installations. One of the leaders of the rebellion had been a brilliant young man named Aguinaldo. He was an exile at the time of Dewey’s victory and our consul-general, Spencer Pratt, in Singapore, had assured him that we intended to grant the Philippines independence as we did Cuba. Pratt had no authorization from Washington to make this promise but he felt that he needed none; it could be taken for granted. We brought Aguinaldo back to the Philippines where he did a capable job of organizing and leading the insurrectos against the Spaniards. After Spain’s defeat, he was regarded by many of the people as their liberator, much as we regard George Washington.
However, after the war we decided to keep the islands. I believe this was largely due to Germany’s attempted seizure of them and the fact that Japan also clearly intended to take them over if possible. Then, too, we had become increasingly conscious of the value of bases in the Pacific. We had acquired Samoa and the Hawaiian Islands. It would be extremely useful to us to have bases closer to the mainland. The Philippines were such a base.
We have been severely criticized for having taken over the islands but under the conditions existing in the world in 1900, it was impossible for the Philippines to have been independent. The only question was whether they would belong to Spain, Germany, Japan, or us. I am sure the diplomats in Washington took it for granted that the Filipinos would be delighted to accept our kindly rule until such time as we could build them up so they could shift for themselves. Unfortunately, it turned out that the Filipinos had very different ideas. They no more wanted to be ruled by us than they wanted to be ruled by Spain. By this time we felt that we had committed ourselves and had to dominate the islands by force. It seemed simple; the modern, highly advanced United States against a handful of poorly equipped, uncivilized savages living in rice paddies and jungles. We had no idea how costly and frustrating guerrilla warfare can be. No one foresaw the years of fighting and mountains of expense that lay ahead. In Cuba, our battle casualties amounted to 379 men. Before we were through in the Philippines, 250,000 people had died.
The Old Navy Page 17
