President McKinley

by Robert W. Merry

  Many in Congress took their cue from the newspaper magnate. Illinois senator William Mason, a Republican, even speculated that the facts were “being concealed from the people . . . [and] members of Congress.” Was there not a “danger,” he asked, that the navy, “in investigating itself, will be . . . finding a state of facts that does not exist?” Five days later Nebraska’s Allen sought to resurrect the hoary notion of U.S. recognition of rebel belligerency rights, almost sure to lead to war. Allen’s effort generated a spirited debate. “Calmness, silence, patience are necessary,” declared Nebraska’s Thurston, “. . . for the safe and peaceful and successful prosecution of the inquiry.” Thurston’s judgment prevailed, which pleased McKinley. A Cabinet secretary told reporters, on condition of anonymity, that the president “will not be jingoed into war, or act in anticipation of events which may never occur.”

  But in the interim McKinley contemplated the various scenarios that could emerge, including the possibility that navy divers would see that the explosion came from outside the ship and thus conclude it was not an accident. On February 26, the Cabinet explored two possible U.S. actions if that happened. One would be to demand an indemnity from Spain; the other would be war. Problems with the first included strong opposition from an agitated American public. Also Spain likely would “seek to delay, to arbitrate, or . . . absolutely refuse to entertain the proposition, thus throwing the burden of the first overt act upon the United States,” as a State Department memo put it. Given that McKinley would not wish to be the aggressor, it was suggested that any indemnity demand be accompanied by an extensive statement of U.S. grievances stemming from the war, a catalogue of humanitarian abuses caused by it, and an announcement of U.S. recognition of Cuban independence. This might mollify some pro-war elements in the United States while forcing Spain to make the first move if it considered rebel recognition a casus belli.

  From Madrid, meanwhile, Woodford reported an inconsistency of behavior that bordered on the bizarre—probably reflecting the crosscurrents of pressure buffeting the queen’s ministry. The queen regent, in a private conversation with Woodford, once again pleaded for McKinley to quash the Cuban Junta. The same entreaty came in a subsequent Woodford conversation with Moret y Prendergast and Gullón e Iglesias. But in a gesture of friendship the Spanish ministers also said Madrid was prepared to move quickly on a commercial treaty and on an indemnity payment to the family of the deceased dentist Ricardo Ruiz.

  Then came a three-pronged Spanish complaint from Moret to Woodford. The colonial minister accused a U.S. naval officer named “Brownsfield” of landing his ship, the Brooklyn, at the Dominican Republic to assist rebel filibusters there. According to the report, the Brooklyn commander had with him the young son of a martyred rebel leader, Calixto García. Moret then accused Consul Lee of maintaining ties to the rebels and privately advocating U.S. annexation of Cuba. Some firebrand officials in Madrid, he warned, wanted to expel Lee from Havana to demonstrate Spanish pride. “Moret believes,” Woodford reported to McKinley, “that General Lee’s home and Legation are the centres of sympathy for the insurrection” and that through his influence “the insurrection is helped and autonomy retarded.” Moret also reported that Spanish officials in Cuba likely would banish offending U.S. newspapermen, including reporters for the Journal and World.

  Regarding the reporters, Woodford said he had “absolutely no suggestion to make.” It was Spain’s affair. He conveyed the other complaints to Washington, where officials promptly went public with Spain’s push against Lee. There was some truth in Madrid’s suggestion that Lee indiscreetly had signaled his sympathy for the Cuban rebels. But McKinley was in no mood to entertain such a challenge. After consulting with Day and Long, he issued a statement asserting, “The President will not consider the recall of Gen. Lee. He has borne himself throughout this crisis with judgment, fidelity, and courage, to the President’s entire satisfaction.” Two days later the White House told reporters of Madrid’s allegation of naval support for Cuban filibustering operations under the command of Captain Arent S. Crowninshield (not “Brownsfield,” as Spanish officials mistakenly had identified him). Press dispatches revealed that during Crowninshield’s benign mission to the Dominican Republic he had been accompanied by his own son, not García’s son. “There was not, of course, the slightest foundation for this assertion,” reported the Post.

  It was a major diplomatic humiliation for Madrid—first, having McKinley brusquely reject its desire for Lee’s recall, then having its accusation against a respected U.S. naval officer exposed as flimsy and reckless. “Moret is sincerely grateful for the prompt and satisfactory explanation of the Crowninshield incident,” Woodford wrote to McKinley. “[He] accepts your judgment with regard to Consul General Lee.”

  But such atmospherics went only so far in helping McKinley press his delicate game of persuading Madrid to give up Cuba while avoiding any public demand that it do so. Even a hint that that was his aim would elicit an angry Spanish rebuke. At the same time, an appearance of presidential irresolution could stimulate more jingoist sentiment at home and undermine U.S. efforts to pressure Spain to make conciliatory actions in Cuba. He needed a display of resolve that wouldn’t be provocative to Spain.

  On March 7 the president summoned top congressional leaders, along with War Secretary Alger and Navy Secretary Long, for an extended discussion in his private White House library. He emphasized the need for military preparations in case war became unavoidable and confirmed unofficial reports that Spain was seeking to purchase warships on the global market. Turning to Joe Cannon, chairman of the House Appropriations Committee, he asked for a major supplemental appropriation for national defense. After some discussion, the appropriate amount was pegged at $50 million. When Cannon that afternoon slipped a special appropriations bill into the House hopper, reporters flashed the news across the country and around the world. The response was electric. Within two days, both houses of Congress had passed the bill unanimously. As Nelson Dingley explained to reporters, the president had been engaged in military spending with the expectation of subsequent congressional support. “We now propose to place ample funds at [his] disposal,” he said.

  Ample, indeed. Woodford reported to McKinley that Spanish officials were “simply stunned” at the news. “To appropriate fifty millions out of money in the treasury, without borrowing a cent, demonstrates wealth and power,” wrote the minister, adding the lack of restrictions on the funds “demonstrates entire confidence in you by all parties.” Woodford pointed out that Spanish officials also feared the appropriation would encourage the rebels to persevere, thus dooming autonomy. Their concerns deepened when the U.S. government immediately earmarked part of the $50 million to purchase two Brazilian cruisers under construction in England that Spain had hoped to obtain.

  But Spain had no money. Its debt burden exceeded $400 million, and annual debt-service costs absorbed some $65 million of an annual budget of between $150 million and $160 million. Meanwhile Blanco was spending some $8 million a month on his war effort. “There can be no question,” argued The Nation, “that Spain is financially embarrassed.” Not sufficiently embarrassed, though, to entertain the idea of selling Cuba to the insurgents, who on March 1 offered to pay Spain up to $200 million for the withdrawal of its troops and recognition of Cuban independence. Spain consistently rebuffed intermittent offers on the part of the United States and various European powers to foster the purchase of the island. Godkin’s Nation captured the underlying sentiment: “The Spanish people are as patriotic a race as ever lived. The impulse of a splendid past is still upon them. . . . Threatened bankruptcy, certain defeat in the long run, will not for a moment deter that proud nation from fighting for its honor.”

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  AS THE PRESIDENT waited for the results of the naval inquiry, conducted aboard the lighthouse tender Mangrove anchored in Havana Harbor, he filled his days and nights with activity related to Spain and Cuba, often quickly delegating less pressing matte
rs to subordinates or casting them aside altogether. He cajoled members of Congress, pushed for contingency war plans, managed the extensive correspondence from Woodford, pursued unexpected opportunities such as the purchase of the Brazilian cruisers, and devoted long hours to rambling strategy sessions with his most trusted advisers. After dining with Ida and devoting his early evenings to her, he often returned to his Cabinet Room table for further toil until eleven o’clock or later. Secretary George Cortelyou noted in his diary that the president often appeared “careworn” and “haggard,” though he remained always “very gentle and considerate.” Occasionally he escaped the White House for an afternoon walk around Lafayette Park or a buggy ride with Ida or Judge Day.

  The president had managed to foster a political calm in Washington pending the naval commission report, but it was a brittle calm. Senator Chandler of New Hampshire on March 8 declared in an interview that war with Spain was inevitable, and the risk of such a war was “one of the plainest dictates of policy and humanity.” Then Vermont’s Redfield Proctor, a close McKinley friend and one of the Senate’s most respected members, rendered an anguished portrayal of Cuban suffering, based on a recent tour of the island. During a March 17 Senate floor speech, which transfixed his colleagues, the senator said he had expected his visit to confirm his belief that the stories of Cuban devastation had been overblown. Now he knew they weren’t.

  The horrors of the reconcentrados policy, said Proctor, defied comprehension for anyone who had not seen them. “Torn from their homes, with foul earth, foul air, foul water, and foul food or none,” said Proctor, “what wonder that one half have died and that one quarter of the living are so diseased that they cannot be saved.” People were perishing in the streets from starvation, and often they were “found dead about the markets in the morning, where they had crawled, hoping to get some stray bits of food from the early hucksters.” These were people, he explained, who had been “independent and self-supporting before Weyler’s order.” Blanco’s touted efforts to end Weyler’s brutality had been a sham, said Proctor; he had talked with many businessmen who had been early opponents of the insurrection, and not one now saw any hope for Spanish-ruled Cuba.

  Though Proctor spoke without belligerence and avoided any policy advocacy, his stark picture generated powerful impressions throughout the country. “The speech will undoubtedly arouse great sympathy for the Cuban people,” said Senator Cullom, “for . . . it is evident that Senator Proctor speaks the truth.” Ben Foraker added, “It may stir this country to action; at least, I hope it will.”

  These pressures coincided with a White House briefing in which naval board members informed McKinley that they believed the Maine disaster had been no internal accident. Knowing this would inflame congressional passions further, McKinley redoubled his efforts to squeeze Madrid into ending the war at whatever cost. On March 22 Woodford delivered to Moret a blunt warning: unless Madrid reached some kind of agreement with the Cuban rebels “within a very few days,” the president would submit the whole question of U.S.-Spain relations to Congress. This was essentially a threat of war, as McKinley had been holding at bay the war-hungry Congress. After Woodford informed Washington that Foreign Minister Gullón wished to speak with him, Day cabled the U.S. minister: “The President approves your statement to the Minister for the colonies. . . . He will await your telegram after your interview” with Gullón.

  The next day Woodford repeated the warning to the foreign minister, with particular emphasis on the words “within a very few days.” When Gullón professed to be “surprised” at the apparent change in U.S. thinking, Woodford countered that the only change was Washington’s realization that Cuban autonomy had failed and Spain could not subdue the rebels or lure them into a settlement. Gullón said he would submit the matter to the Council of Ministers and report back by eight o’clock that evening.

  After discussion with the Council, Gullón told Woodford that Spanish officials would consider further concessions, though it wasn’t clear how significant they were. Gullón said Spain would empower the Cuban Congress to negotiate a peace with the rebels after it reconvened on May 4. To foster the negotiation, Spain would agree to an interim cease-fire, “provided the United States can secure the acceptance and enforcement of like immediate truce by the insurgents.” Woodford reported that an intense struggle within the Spanish cabinet ultimately produced the concessions, but only after the queen intervened.

  This development thrilled the U.S. minister. “Truce and negotiations in Cuba,” he wrote the president, “mean, in my respectful judgment, that the Spanish flag is to quit Cuba.” McKinley and Day disagreed. This seemed like another delaying tactic, and they thought Woodford missed the significance of Spain’s carefully phrased proviso that Madrid couldn’t cede its governmental responsibilities to the Cuban Congress. Late into the evening of March 25, Day produced a long cable to Woodford clarifying the Washington position. It read as if it had been dashed off, perhaps with a bit of frustration. He sent it off at midnight:

  The President’s desire is for peace. He cannot look upon the suffering and starvation in Cuba save with horror. The concentration of men, women and children in the fortified towns and permitting them to starve is unbearable. . . . There has been no relief to the starving except such as the American people have supplied. The reconcentration order has not been practically superseded. . . . For your own guidance the President suggests that if Spain will revoke the concentration order and maintain the people until they can support themselves and offer to the Cubans full self-government with reasonable indemnity, the President will gladly assist in its consummation. If Spain should invite the United States to mediate for peace and the insurgents would make like request, the President might undertake such office of friendship.

  The message was clear. McKinley fully embraced the humanitarian impulse that had driven so much of the congressional agitation. Vague promises of future actions wouldn’t serve. The president required immediate action, with timetables for results.

  Woodford didn’t quite get the president’s intent. He wired Day, “Do the words ‘full self government’ mean actual recognition of independence, or is nominal Spanish sovereignty over Cuba still permissible?” Day’s response: “Full self Government with indemnity would mean Cuban Independence.” The assistant secretary also wired a fuller rendition of what the president wanted: first, armistice until October 1, initiated by Spain, with negotiations in the meantime between Spain and the insurgents through the friendly offices of the president; second, immediate and full revocation of the reconcentrados order and full Spanish cooperation in U.S. relief efforts; third, if peace terms proved elusive through October 1, McKinley could arbitrate a settlement. Day said McKinley also would seek rebel acquiescence in the final plan but only if Madrid requested such an action.

  Woodford presented these terms to Spanish officials, who promised to respond by Tuesday, March 31. But on Tuesday they asked for two more days. Day shot a cable to Woodford: “It is of the utmost importance that the conference be not postponed beyond next Thursday and definite results then reached. Feeling here is intense.”

  Indeed feeling reached a fever pitch in Washington after release of the naval inquiry conclusion that the Maine had been destroyed by an external explosive, meaning foul play rather than an accidental internal combustion. (Subsequent inquiries questioned this conclusion, and most experts now consider the matter indeterminate.) The board of inquiry found that discipline aboard ship had been “excellent” and all orders and safety regulations had been strictly observed. The configuration of the hull, with outside bottom plating “bent inward” and a portion doubled back upon itself, “could in court’s opinion have been produced only by explosion of a mine under bottom of ship,” a report summary put it. Though the report didn’t identify the perpetrators, it suggested “a grave responsibility appears to rest upon the Spanish Government,” as the Maine had relied upon Spain for “the security and protection of a friendly port.”<
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  The report reached the White House early on the morning of March 25, a Friday. The president brought in Day and Long to join him in poring over the extensive text and appendices in the Cabinet Room, then convened that day’s regular Cabinet meeting, which lasted through most of the afternoon. After briefing the Cabinet on the report, McKinley sought help in crafting the language of his message to Congress, which was to accompany the report summary on Monday. He spent most of Saturday working on his message text with Judge Day and pondering the test of wills he soon would face with both Congress and the Spanish ministry.

  In his cover document to Congress, McKinley avoided any hint of patriotic fervor. He called the Maine disaster an “appalling calamity” that generated “an intense excitement” that in less controlled nations might have led to “hasty acts of blind resentment.” But, he asserted, this spirit soon gave way to “the calmer processes of reason” and a resolve to ascertain the facts. After summarizing those facts, as interpreted by the board of inquiry, McKinley revealed that he had communicated to Spain the board’s findings and America’s view of the situation. He concluded, “I do not permit myself to doubt that the sense of justice of the Spanish nation will dictate a course of action suggested by honor. . . . It will be the duty of the Executive to advise the Congress of the result, and in the meantime deliberate consideration is invoked.”