For the Common Defense

by Allan R. Millett, Peter Maslowski

  Mahan preached a gospel of armed aggressiveness that won him world acclaim (and healthy royalties). His writings took England by storm. He received honorary degrees from Oxford and Cambridge, dined with the First Sea Lord of the Admiralty, and was the first foreigner ever entertained at the Royal Navy Club. Germany’s Kaiser tried to learn Mahan’s book by heart and ordered translations put aboard every ship in the Imperial fleet. In Japan the Emperor, government leaders, and the officer corps received copies. In the United States Navy his writings became holy writ, sanctifying its requests for more and better ships. Mahan’s main purpose in writing The Influence was to provide a rationale for naval expansion, and he succeeded admirably.

  Like Upton, Mahan achieved fame even though his ideas were not novel and his arguments contained weaknesses. Numerous officers and informed civilians had understood the sea power concept before Mahan put pen to paper. During the late 1870s and 1880s, Porter, Schufeldt, Luce, and many other officers expressed Mahanian ideas, as did expansionist civilians such as Tracy. Mahan merely codified the big-navy philosophy of his age, but he had the advantages of writing eloquently and at the moment when imperialism and navalism were in full flower. Mahan also used history as badly as Upton and drew a false analogy between the U.S. and a European country. Relying on the Royal Navy’s example, he believed that a similar American navy would yield comparable diplomatic and military benefits. However, Mahan was careless with his facts, studied a unique era when no rival navy matched England’s, and only paid lip service to Britain’s geographic position and fortuitous control of crucial narrow seas. He never really understood that America was a continent not an island, that the Atlantic was not the Channel, and that the Caribbean was not the Mediterranean. Intellectually rooted in the age of sail and convinced that the principles of strategy did not change despite evolving technology, Mahan ignored technological developments, such as submarines, self-propelled torpedoes, floating mines, airplanes, and expanding networks of railroads and all-weather roads, all of which in part modified his battleship/command-of-the-sea thesis. Although some of these innovations were not evident in 1890, most were by Mahan’s death in 1914. Immensely influential yet doctrinally conservative, Mahan hastened the building of a battleship navy designed to fight decisive battles for “command of the sea.”

  Along with the growing sophistication of military education, another professional triumph for the reformers was the creation of embryonic intelligence organizations. In 1882 the Navy Department established the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI), and in 1885 the War Department formed a similar organization, eventually known as the Military Information Division (MID). These groups served almost as European-style general staffs, creating at least a rudimentary foundation for rational planning. Through Washington-based staffs and attachés assigned to America’s principal embassies, ONI and MID gathered data about foreign military affairs, began to prepare war mobilization plans, and disseminated maps, charts, and specialized military reports. Predictably, a rivalry developed between ONI and MID. When ONI’s chief discovered an Army intelligence officer borrowing a report, he was incensed. “Such an incident as this served to make me doubly cautious,” he wrote, “especially in dealing with these army people, who in matters of tact or discretion seem to me to be a lower order of intellect than the mule.” In spite of the bickering, ONI and MID were vital steps toward the professional’s foremost objective, the preparation for war in time of peace.

  Armed forces progressives had mixed success in reforming their personnel, reserve forces, and command systems. Since conditions for enlisted men had not improved since before the Civil War, few well-adjusted, native-born Americans enlisted, and the services included many criminals, outcasts, and foreigners. At times more than 50 percent of the men in both services were foreign-born, though some were naturalized citizens. For relief, enlisted personnel resorted to “watered whiskey and wayward women,” suicide, and especially desertion. At times the Army’s desertion rate climbed as high as 33 percent. The Navy averaged 1,000 desertions a year out of an authorized strength of 8,000, which made its manpower problems acute since naval modernization required more men.

  By the late nineteenth century authorities were so concerned about the large number of foreigners in the Army and the high desertion rate that they made a conscious effort to Americanize the Army and improve the living conditions of enlisted men. The adjutant general ordered recruiters into rural areas to reduce the proportion of enlistees from northern cities with large immigrant populations, which were the Army’s traditional recruiting grounds. And Congress passed a law declaring that enlistees must be citizens (or have made a legal declaration of their intent to become citizens) and know how to read, write, and speak English. Moreover, reformers in both services maintained that tolerable treatment of enlisted personnel would attract better men and reduce the desertion rate. They proposed a number of improvements, such as better food, clothing, and living quarters, higher pay, greater promotion opportunities, and an equitable legal system. But progress was slow and uneven, hampered by public apathy, congressional economy, and opposition from conservative officers who believed these changes ruined discipline.

  Personnel reform extended to the officer corps, where reformers also achieved modest progress. One demand was for promotion on ability rather than seniority. To determine ability, reformers suggested rigorous examinations and annual fitness reports. Although conservatives argued that politics and social influence would pervert selective promotion, in 1890 the Army required examinations for officers below the rank of major, and in the mid-1890s it instituted efficiency reports for all officers. In 1899 the Navy acquired a rudimentary system of promotion by merit that allowed for the “selecting out” of ineffective officers reaching the grade of captain. Neither service’s promotion system worked very effectively, but the systems established the principle of selection by merit. Reformers also wanted a compulsory retirement system, on the assumption that aged officers lost their initiative and energy. Older officers disagreed, but in 1882 Congress enacted mandatory retirement at age sixty-four.

  One of the Army’s most troublesome problems was whether a national reserve or the state-controlled National Guard would be its first line of support. Almost all regulars preferred an Upton-style national reserve, separate from the militias and under federal control. They wanted militias to perform auxiliary duties as short-term local defense units and to serve as manpower reservoirs for national forces. In the regulars’ eyes the Guard was not battle-ready, and its mobilization would raise perplexing questions: Could federalized militias serve more than three months, and could they serve overseas? State authorities and National Guardsmen opposed a federal reserve, but Guardsmen disagreed on what their role was. Militiamen from the Atlantic coast and Canadian border states accepted the Army’s definition of their function, since proximity to important ports and fortifications guaranteed them a vital local defense role. However, they were reluctant to serve for more than a few months and opposed overseas service. Guardsmen from inland states, whose homes would not be threatened, rejected the regulars’ definition. Wanting recognition as the organized cadre of any wartime volunteer force, they were willing to undertake extended campaigns, even overseas. Despite their differences over the composition and control of reserve forces, regulars and Guardsmen moved toward closer cooperation. The Army loaned cannons and mortars to militia units, detailed officers to inspect National Guard encampments and assist in training, and occasionally participated in joint maneuvers. However, the basic issue of the Guard’s military function remained unresolved.

  The Navy faced a similar problem concerning the naval militia. Encouraged by the National Guard’s example, in 1888 Massachusetts established the first naval militia, and by 1898 fifteen state militias had a combined strength of 4,215. Many professionals viewed the new organizations warily, preferring a national naval reserve. Since militias were under state control and had elected officers, the Navy could not ensure the
ir quality. Officers also questioned whether technology had not made amateur sailors an anachronism and feared that the naval militia might distract attention from more important matters, like building battleships. Still, in the absence of a national reserve, militias provided a second-line force that might be useful for coastal defense. Federal and state forces began to cooperate, beginning in 1891 with an annual $25,000 appropriation for the “arming and equipping of the Naval Militia.” The Navy loaned warships for militia training and conducted joint summer cruises, a few militia officers attended the Naval War College, and the Navy Department created an Office of Naval Militia. But as with the Guard, the fundamental question of the naval militia’s role in national defense remained unanswered.

  The progressives’ biggest failure in the last third of the nineteenth century was their inability to reform the military’s command structure. The Army discarded the Civil War chief of staff and Army Board, leaving the prewar structure intact. At the top was the secretary, usually a civilian lacking military knowledge and burdened with routine detail. Below the secretary were the bureaus, each headed by an independent Army chief. Although proficient and even progressive within their own individual areas of highly technical activity, the bureaus remained woefully deficient in overall planning and coordination. Standing somewhere in the organizational chart (no one knew exactly where) was the commanding general, whose authority was uncertain. Having achieved his position through seniority, he and the secretary were often incompatible. These three disconnected power centers spent much time in bureaucratic conflict at the expense of coordinated effort, the strife manifesting itself in the ongoing line-staff feud. The secretary received no united professional advice, and no agency had clear responsibility for studying problems of wartime high command and mobilization. The Navy Department lacked a position analogous to the commanding general, but the secretary and bureau chiefs managed to foster similar bureaucratic confusion.

  Both services tried expedients to solve their command problems. When Sherman became commanding general, President Grant promised that he would be the Army’s professional head and ordered all segments of the Army to report to Sherman. However, Grant soon rescinded the order when the bureau chiefs rebelled and Congress complained that subordinating the bureaus to the commanding general violated the law. When Schofield became commanding general in 1888, he solved the problem by relinquishing all pretense of commanding the Army. Realizing that Upton’s call for military independence from civilian control was unacceptable, he served the secretary as a military adviser, or de facto chief of staff. Schofield’s solution worked well, but his successor, Nelson A. Miles, refused to subordinate himself to anyone. His ambitions shattered the harmony of the Schofield years and revived the command muddle. Navy secretaries sought control over their bureaus by creating ad hoc boards. Usually formed for a specific purpose, the boards reported and then dissolved, leaving no permanent imprint.

  By the 1890s progressive officers, usually from the line, unanimously wanted a general staff for each service and rotation between staff and line. The staffs would undertake planning and coordinating functions, while rotation would temper the line-staff imbroglio. But the reformers failed. Congress had scant interest in reform, bureau chiefs resisted, and conservative officers objected. Under the current system the United States had won its wars, so why change?

  In 1897 the German General Staff published a survey of world military forces. Although it detailed such “powers” as Portugal and Montenegro, the study excluded the United States Army. The omission was logical; compared to European armies, the Americans’ 28,000 officers and men did not represent an “army” in any operational sense of the word. Yet the Army was not somnolent. Its external appearance was little changed, but reformist officers had established the basis for a modern force. If Europeans could safely ignore the Army, the United States Navy was another matter. By 1898, with four first-class battleships (and five more building), two second-class battleships, two armored cruisers, and more than a dozen protected cruisers, the Navy was ascending toward European standards. Supported by the new seacoast emplacements, an expanding specialized industrial base, and the writings of Mahan, the Navy was on the brink of its debut as a world sea power.

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  NINE

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  The Birth of an American Empire, 1898–1902

  On the night of February 15, 1898, a Marine bugler played “Taps” aboard USS Maine, anchored in Havana’s harbor since late January. Captain Charles D. Sigsbee, the ship’s commander, finished writing a letter as the notes drifted off into the evening stillness. Just as he reached for an envelope, “a bursting, rending, and crashing roar of immense volume” rocked the ship, which trembled, listed to port, and settled into the mud. Out of 354 officers and men on board, 266 died in the explosion. What caused the disaster? No one knew for sure, but one thing was certain: The incident made war between the United States and Spain more likely.

  Relations between the two countries had gradually deteriorated after the Cuban Revolution began in 1895. Commanded by Maximo Gomez, the revolutionary army relied on guerrilla warfare and devastation of the island’s economy to expel the Spanish. Eventually, Gomez thought, either Spain would cede independence or the U.S. would intervene on the rebels’ behalf. But Spain had no intention of granting independence to the last remnant of its New World empire and poured troops into the island. A “reconcentration” policy, initiated by Governor General Valeriano Weyler, involved herding the rural population into specified towns and areas while Spanish forces systematically devastated the countryside. Weyler hoped that the rebels, deprived of food, recruits, and timely information regarding enemy movements, would capitulate.

  Americans watched the savage war with growing concern. Humanitarianism swelled for the Cubans’ suffering, as thousands died under Weyler’s reconcentration program. By disrupting trade with Cuba and threatening American investments there, the war touched not only Americans’ hearts but also their pocketbooks. The U.S. proclaimed neutrality in the summer of 1895, but enforcing it was hard, and maintaining coastal patrols and prosecuting offenders was expensive. Moreover, American expansionists considered Cuba in a larger perspective. Stressing the virtues of world power, they were eager to intervene as a means of propelling the nation into an active international role.

  Imperialist aspirations collided with President William McKinley’s aversion to war and emphasis on domestic economic affairs. Having served in the Civil War, the president had seen enough death and destruction. With the country in a depression, he concentrated on tariff reform and maintaining a sound currency. Desiring a diplomatic solution, he refused to recognize Cuban belligerency or make preparations for possible intervention. Yet McKinley hinted that his patience was not inexhaustible and that Spain must end the suffering in the “near future.” He was also an astute politician who valued public opinion, which became increasingly pro-intervention. Pressed by McKinley, in late 1897 Spain initiated reforms, suspending the reconcentration policy, granting amnesty to political prisoners, and adopting an autonomy plan that gave Cuba greater home rule but left Spanish sovereignty intact. But the rebels rejected the scheme, and the Spanish garrison in Havana rioted in protest against it. The war continued, with neither side able to win.

  Events in early 1898 drove Spain and the U.S. to war. On February 9 a stolen letter from the Spanish minister in Washington appeared in the press. It contained insulting comments about McKinley and revealed that Spain was not serious about its reformist policy. A week later Maine sank. Although an accidental internal explosion probably destroyed the ship, many Americans blamed Spain for the disaster, an impression heightened when a naval board of inquiry—hardly an objective group of inquisitors—concluded that a submarine mine had caused the ship’s forward magazines to explode. Just prior to the board’s report, Senator Redfield Proctor recounted his impressions from a recent tour of Cuba, detailing the human tragedy with dispassionate yet compelling language
. Vividly described in the press, these events created a “sort of bellicose fury” among the public, which demanded intervention.

  Ultimately responsive to public opinion, in late March McKinley informed Spain that it must grant Cuban independence. Confronted with this ultimatum, Spain stalled for time, hoping to avoid a crisis by indefinitely delaying it and trying (unsuccessfully) to mobilize European support to deter American intervention. Spain also made further concessions, declaring an armistice on April 10. But it would not concede independence. On April 11 McKinley asked Congress for authority to intervene to stop the misery and death, protect American lives and property in Cuba, curtail the damage to commerce, and end the onerous task of enforcing neutrality. Congress responded with a joint resolution that called for independence, immediate Spanish withdrawal, and, if necessary, use of armed force to attain these goals. The Teller Amendment to the resolution disclaimed any intention of annexing Cuba. On April 23 Spain declared war, as did the United States two days later.

  Mobilizing for War

  Although he went to war reluctantly, McKinley was a strong commander in chief. He controlled strategy and diplomacy through a White House “war room” replete with large-scale maps studded with colored flags showing the location of troops and ships, telephones linking McKinley to cabinet officers and Congress, and telegraphic hookups giving him rapid overseas communications. The president devised an appropriate, limited-war strategy that effectively utilized force to further the nation’s limited political objective of compelling Spain to grant Cuban independence. He pursued a peripheral strategy, directing attacks against Spain’s colonies, hoping that many small victories, even if far from the enemy homeland, would have a cumulative effect. The president also served as liaison man between the Army and Navy and became involved in the details of Army operations. Understanding that overseas operations required joint planning, Secretary of War Russell A. Alger and Secretary of the Navy John D. Long organized an Army-Navy Board, composed of one officer from each service. However, the board was ineffectual, leaving McKinley as the interservice mediator.