Theodore Rex

by Edmund Morris

  Up Pennsylvania Avenue, the stereopticon watchers were roaring, as result after result flickered onto the screens. Mayor Seth Low of New York City had conceded defeat. A Democratic rout was announced in Maryland. Especially loud cheers, around eleven o’clock, signaled a triumph for “Hanna Republicans” in Ohio.

  The White House conference broke up fifteen minutes later, after another cable from Panama City announced that a government gunboat had tossed five or six shells into the city, “killing a Chinaman in Salsipuedes street and mortally wounding an ass.” If that was the extent of Colombia’s rage so far, a tired President could get some sleep.

  THE BIG WORD REVOLUTION crowded election results on the right-hand side of the front page of The Washington Post the next morning. Most other newspapers, however, treated the story from Panama City as if it were the final, entirely predictable installment of a serial that had begun well but lost its power of suspense. In any case, the New York World had given away the ending nearly four months before—even forecasting yesterday’s date. This temporary lack of interest (the story being by no means over) enabled Roosevelt, Hay, Loomis, and Darling to concentrate on the worsening crisis in Colón.

  Commander Hubbard, by triple authority of the White House and the State and Navy Departments, had issued a denial of rail transport to the tiradores. (They were free to march across the Isthmus, if they liked, on a mud trail two feet wide, through one of the wettest jungles in the world.) Hubbard informed Colonel Shaler in writing that any redistribution of troops, loyal or revolutionary, “must bring about a conflict and threaten that free and uninterrupted transit of the Isthmus which the Government of the United States is pledged to maintain.” He had sent an early copy of this order to Colonel Torres, emphasizing that it applied to both sides, and trusting in his “cordial” cooperation.

  Torres reacted with cordial fury. He was still unaware of what had happened in Panama City, but he had grown increasingly nervous since the departure of his commanding officers. Their silence was suspicious, as was Hubbard’s cryptic reference to a possible “conflict.” Did the commander mean a clash with insurrectos inland, or an international battle right here on the Colón waterfront? Torres knew only that an American naval officer was denying him the right to cross his own country.

  The mid-morning train from Panama City arrived, bringing the first unofficial news of yesterday’s uprising. Porfirio Meléndez offered to buy Torres a drink. Under soothing fans at the Astor Hotel, he confirmed that Panama had seceded from Colombia. The new republic’s security had been guaranteed by the United States, which was sending more warships. General Tovar was in jail, along with his fellow officers, and so was Governor Obaldía. All Panamanians supported the revolution, so resistance was “entirely useless.” If Colonel Torres would be so good as to order his men to surrender their arms, the junta would provide rations and passage back to Barranquilla.

  Torres went in a frenzy to the prefect of Colón and told him to deliver an ultimatum to Consul Malmros. Unless Tovar and Amaya were freed by 2:00 P.M., he would open fire on the town “and kill every U.S. citizen in the place.”

  When Commander Hubbard heard of this threat, shortly after one o’clock, he took it as tantamount to “war against the United States.” All male Americans in Colón were ordered to take cover in Shaler’s stone depot, while their women and children were rushed aboard steamers in the harbor. Forty-two heavily armed Marines simultaneously came ashore to defend the railroad, while the Nashville patrolled the waterfront. Its guns covered the town at boardwalk level.

  Undeterred, Torres’s five hundred men surrounded the railroad yard.

  IN WASHINGTON, the President lunched with Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes—“one of the most interesting men I have ever met”—and Sir Frederick Pollock, Professor of Jurisprudence at Oxford University. Roosevelt enjoyed their company, yet remained temperamentally unable to understand the workings of minds more concerned with reason than power.

  In New York, Philippe Bunau-Varilla decoded a cable from his friend “Smith” in Panama City. It was not, as he expected, his appointment as the new republic’s Minister Plenipotentiary, but a pressing demand for one hundred thousand pesos. He decided to send half that amount. Fifty thousand pesos equaled about twenty-five thousand dollars, or one quarter of his total pledge. If junta members wanted the rest, they would have to make good on the ministership—and certify that they held both coasts. The United States was not likely to dig a canal on only one side of the continental divide.

  “With all the insistence possible,” he cabled back, “I recommend you to seize Colón.”

  COLONEL TORRES, closeted with Chief Meléndez, let his 2:00 P.M. deadline pass. For another hour and a quarter, Colombians and Americans continued to draw beads on each other across the railroad yard. The tension increased as the Cartagena, which had raised anchor after the Nashville lowered its guns, steamed toward the horizon at a speed suggesting she sought safety beyond it. Now that they had lost their troopship, the tiradores were more than ever compelled to stand and fight.

  Then Torres approached the depot, smiling. Evidently there had been some pecuniary progress in his negotiations with Chief Meléndez. He told Colonel Hubbard that he now felt “most friendly” toward the United States. But he needed an authorization from his captive leader before he called off his men. Colonel Shaler undertook to transport a pair of Colombian envoys to Panama City for that purpose, and Commander Hubbard promised them safe conduct. After their special train had puffed off, Torres and Hubbard agreed to a mutual, modified fallback. The Marines would retire to the Nashville, and the battalion would camp on a hill outside town, while Colón would be left under the control of Chief Meléndez.

  A state of unnatural calm settled over the shabby little port, even as Panama City, where the first revolutionary bonuses had just been paid out in silver, abandoned itself to wild celebrations. In Bogotá, mobs raged through the streets and stoned President Marroquín’s house. And in Washington, Roosevelt and Hay worried over a cable from Malmros: PANAMA IN POSSESSION OF COMMITTEE WITH CONSENT OF ENTIRE POPULATION…. COLON IN THE POSSESSION OF THE GOVERNMENT.

  And in New York, a naval emissary boarded a steamer of the Panama Railroad Company with a secret package addressed to the commander-in-chief of the North Atlantic Fleet. It contained war plans for an emergency occupation of the Isthmus.

  COLONEL HUBBARD WENT ashore early on Thursday, 5 November, to find the tiradores (rendered irritable by mosquito bites) about to re-enter town. Torres said he had to be ready for the orders of General Tovar, due when his envoys arrived on the mid-morning train. Hubbard, infuriated, once more landed Marines, mounted cannons around the depot, and sent American women and children to safety. The Nashville resumed its sweep of the waterfront.

  To popular relief, the envoys brought no orders, written or oral, from General Tovar. He declined to command from the depths of a jail cell; he merely expressed confidence that Colonel Torres “would always do his duty.” Chief Meléndez, scenting capitulation, reappeared at Torres’s elbow. The colonel blustered bravely all day; then, shortly before sunset, he agreed to accept an “indemnity” of eight thousand dollars advanced by Colonel Shaler. The money was counted out in cash. For another thousand dollars’ credit (guaranteed by Colonel Hubbard), the captain of the Royal Mail Company steamship Orinoco agreed to transport the tiradores home. Torres plodded aboard with his sacks of American gold. Four hundred and sixty men and thirteen women followed him up the gangplank. Shaler sent a farewell gift of two cases of champagne.

  Just then, at 7:05 P.M., the Dixie arrived in Colón harbor. It docked rapidly, undeterred by a violent rainstorm, and disgorged four hundred Marines. But their services were not needed. The Orinoco was already under way, and the Panamanian flag rose above Casa Meléndez.

  ROOSEVELT’S CABINET MEETING on the morning of Friday, 6 November, was devoted exclusively to Panama. Hay and Moody presented their latest consular dispatches, inaccurately reporting peace,
stability, and rejoicing all over the Isthmus. A cable from Arango, Boyd, and Arias confirmed that “Señor Philippe Bunau-Varilla” had been appointed their “envoy extraordinary” in Washington, “with full powers to conduct diplomatic and financial negotiations.” (For Bunau-Varilla, sitting on his money in New York, that title was not yet good enough.)

  There was no doubt what the junta wanted: diplomatic recognition of the Republic of Panama. Roosevelt and Hay were willing to extend such courtesy, now that the entire width of the Isthmus had been secured. The delicate question was when. A prompt announcement might forestall any attempt by Colombia to reclaim the Isthmus with a much larger military force. Panama, organized and recognized, could legitimately ask for American aid in repelling “foreign” invaders—and seven American warships were on hand to comply. All the same, there was such a thing as indecent haste. Questions were being asked in British newspapers about Commander Hubbard’s denial of transit rights to the tiradores.

  Roosevelt did not feel the world as a whole would long deplore their repatriation to Barranquilla. All his readings in history and geography, all his thrusting Americanism, “every consideration of international morality and expediency,” told him that after four hundred years of dreams and twenty years of planning, the Panama Canal’s time had come. Colombia was clearly guilty of fatal insolence. Panama deserved the thanks—and support—of other self-determinant nations for her “most just and proper revolution.”

  Shortly before lunch, the Cabinet meeting broke up. Hay returned to the State Department and cabled a message to Consul Ehrman in Panama City.

  THE PEOPLE OF PANAMA HAVE, BY AN APPARENTLY UNANIMOUS MOVEMENT, DISSOLVED THEIR POLITICAL CONNECTION WITH THE REPUBLIC OF COLOMBIA AND RESUMED THEIR INDEPENDENCE. WHEN YOU ARE SATISFIED THAT A DE FACTO GOVERNMENT, REPUBLICAN IN FORM, AND WITHOUT SUBSTANTIAL OPPOSITION FROM ITS OWN PEOPLE, HAS BEEN ESTABLISHED IN THE STATE OF PANAMA, YOU WILL ENTER INTO RELATIONS WITH IT.

  The time was 12:51 P.M.; the infant republic had been in existence not quite sixty-seven hours.

  ROOSEVELT ADJOURNED TO LUNCH. One of his guests was Oscar Straus, whose understanding of international law, commerce, and diplomacy increasingly impressed him. Musing aloud, Roosevelt wondered about the validity of the 1846 treaty, in that it had been contracted with New Granada. Did American obligations to an extinct federation still apply in 1903?

  Straus suggested that the treaty was contracted only with the legitimate “holders” of the Isthmus. American rights related to the territory, which was unchangeable. “Our claim must be based upon what is known in law as ‘a covenant running with the land.’ ”

  Roosevelt seized upon the words with delight. That evening, an announcement of provisional recognition of Panama, issued by the Secretary of State, quoted Straus’s dictum. Hay was careful to add the phrase as lawyers say, and equally careful to eschew any reference to himself. His first words were, “The action of the President in the Panama matter,” and he identified Theodore Roosevelt no fewer than sixteen times in the next twenty paragraphs. “The imperative demands of the interests of civilization required him to put a stop … to the incessant civil contests and bickerings which have been for so many years the curse of Panama.”

  Professor John Bassett Moore was pleased to see some of his own language in the announcement, and sent Straus a note of mutual congratulation. “Perhaps, however, it is only a question … of the ‘covenant running away with the land’!!”

  CHAPTER 19

  The Imagination of the Wicked

  A man can be r-right an’ be prisidint, but he can’t

  be both at th’ same time.

  AFTER TWENTY-TWO years in politics, Theodore Roosevelt was used to critical noise, but the uproar following the recognition of Panama threatened even his robust eardrums. Loudest of all were the cries of Oswald Garrison Villard in the New York Evening Post.

  This mad plunge of ours is simply and solely a vulgar and mercenary adventure, without a rag to cover its sordidness and shame.… At one stroke, President Roosevelt and Secretary Hay have thrown to the winds the principles for which this nation was ready to go to war in the past, and have committed the country to a policy which is ignoble beyond words.

  If Villard meant the strictures of Abraham Lincoln against secession, Roosevelt could cite an earlier principle, fought for by George Washington. Panamanians now, as Americans then, were tired of paying taxes to a remote, autocratic government that invested nothing in return. He would have counted himself “criminal, as well as impotent,” had he not defended the revolution. But a time to reply would come. For the moment, his protesters had the floor.

  In tones approaching libel, Villard denounced the “indecent haste” with which Roosevelt had betrayed trust, “just for a handful of silver.” Colombia had not rated so much as a warning:

  It is the most ignominious thing we know of in the annals of American diplomacy.… And this blow below the belt is dealt by the vociferous champion of fair play! This overriding of the rights of the weaker is the work of the advocate of “a square deal”! The preacher to bishops has shown that, for him at least, private morality has no application to public affairs.… If the President is careless of the national honor, and ready at a word to launch us upon unknown seas, the duty of Congress is but the more imperative. Let this scandal be thrown open to the public gaze.

  Villard’s attacks continued for several days, until even the doubtful demurred. “I rather hope you will continue to pitch in to Roosevelt,” one reader wrote, “[but] as a matter of constitutional and international law, he was fully justified in all he did last week.” Colombia had received ample warning—from Panamanians, if not from Roosevelt. She had been too cowardly, or too corrupt, to fight. Roosevelt was bound to recognize her usurper, as other Presidents had accepted the obsolescence of New Granada. Nor could he be blamed for moving quickly, along with Britain, France, and Germany: “Nations must strike when irons are hot.”

  Anti-imperialists, who had been starved of an issue since the end of the Philippines war, would not be quieted. “Nothing that Alexander or Nero ever did had a coarser touch of infamy,” William Henry Thorpe wrote in The Globe. “And all the depredations of England in Ireland, in Africa, or India have been gentlemanly compared with this sleek and underhanded piece of national bank robbery.” The Chicago Chronicle worried about “the distrust which we shall hereafter inspire among South and Central American countries.” Homer Davenport, cartoonist for the New York American, sketched a majestic eagle with a tiny, isthmus-shaped animal dangling from its claw.

  However, 75 percent of the nation’s more conservative (if less strident) newspapers supported Roosevelt. “Colombia has simply got what she deserved,” the Pittsburgh Times commented, in words echoed by many. The Chicago Tribune agreed with John Hay that “the action of the President … was the only course he could have taken in compliance with our treaty rights and obligations.” Roosevelt’s new vision of the Isthmus, said the Baltimore American, would “inure to the advantage of the whole world.” Democratic and independent editors vied with Republican ones for expressions of relief and satisfaction, albeit qualified. “Even if the United States fomented the revolution,” the Buffalo Express remarked, “it acted in the interests of the governed.”

  South American reactions turned out to be surprisingly muted, with fears of “a foreign protectorate” in Panama tempered by pleasure at the prospect of a new commercial age. Very few newspapers saw evidence of United States involvement in the revolution. “The change is to be welcomed, no matter how it has been brought about,” said the Chilean Times. Even in Bogotá, El Relator published a litany of Colombia’s sins against her separated citizens:

  We have converted the lords and masters of that territory into pariahs of their native soils. We have cut their rights and suppressed all their liberties. We have robbed them of the most precious faculty of a free people—that of electing their mandatories: their legislators, their judges.

  In Euro
pe, as in the United States, there was a preponderance of praise over dismay. The Times of London called Roosevelt’s attitude “studiously correct,” and expressed little sympathy for Colombia, “the most corrupt and retrograde republic in Central America—which is saying a good deal.” Conservative newspapers in both Britain and France marveled that the legislators of Bogotá had tried to milk a treaty that would have brought one fifth of the world’s trade to their shores. Only in Germany was fear expressed of Roosevelt the “master” expansionist. “He is the type of advancing Americanism, as clever as he is unscrupulous, as powerful as he is sly.”

  The President himself remained unruffled by all the fuss. A British visitor to the White House on 11 November found him absorbed in Tittlebat Titmouse.

  ON 13 NOVEMBER, a small man in brand-new diplomatic uniform paid a visit to the Blue Room. Secretary Hay presented him to Roosevelt as “His Excellency M. Philippe Bunau-Varilla, Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary of the Republic of Panama.” Bunau-Varilla bowed, handed over his credentials, and begged permission to read a short discours of his own composition. It owed its brevity to Hay, who had edited out many Gallic metaphors likely to threaten the President’s composure. But Bunau-Varilla managed to mix a few more after Roosevelt joked, “What do you think, Mr. Minister, of those people who print that we have made the Revolution of Panama together?”

  “It is necessary patiently to wait,” Bunau-Varilla replied, “until the spring of the imagination of the wicked is dried up, and until truth dissipates the mist of mendacity.”