CINCINNATI AND WASHINGTON
One day after we had been married less than a year my husband came home
looking so studiously unconcerned that I knew at once he had something
to tell me.
“Nellie, what would you think,” he began casually, “if I should be
appointed a Judge of the Superior Court?”
“Oh, don’t try to be funny,” I exclaimed. “That’s perfectly impossible.”
But it was not impossible, as he soon convinced me. My father had just
refused the same appointment and it was difficult to believe that it
could now be offered to my husband who was only twenty-nine years old.
It was a position made vacant by the retirement from the Bench of Judge
Judson Harmon who was my husband’s senior by more than a decade.
One of the most prominent and prosperous law firms in Cincinnati was
that of Hoadley, Johnston and Colston, and both Mr. Hoadley and Mr.
Johnston had been invited to go to New York and become partners of Mr.
Edward Lauterbach who was then doing an enormous business.
They went, and the old firm in Cincinnati being broken up, Mr. Colston
asked Judge Harmon, who was then on the Superior Court, to take Mr.
Hoadley’s place. Mr. Harmon decided to do so, but he was anxious to
resign his judgeship in such a way as to leave a long enough vacancy to
attract a good man. It was an elective office and the law provided that
a vacancy occurring within thirty days before election could not be
filled by an election until the following year. Judge Harmon resigned so
as to make the appointment for a period of fourteen months. After my
father declined it, the choice lay between Mr. Taft and Mr. Bellamy
Storer. Mr. Taft always thought that but for his opportunity in the
Campbell case Judge Hannon would not have recommended him and Governor
Foraker would not have appointed him. That is why he says he traces all
his success back to that occasion. Mr. Foraker was opposing counsel in
the Campbell case, but he had a lawyer’s appreciation for a lawyer’s
effort.
After the first pleased surprise at the honour which came to us so
unexpectedly I began to think; and my thinking led me to decide that my
husband’s appointment on the Bench was not a matter for such warm
congratulation after all. I saw him in close association with men not
one of whom was less than fifteen years older than he, and most of whom
were much more than that. He seemed to me suddenly to take on a maturity
and sedateness quite out of keeping with his actual years and I dreaded
to see him settled for good in the judiciary and missing all the
youthful enthusiasms and exhilarating difficulties which a more general
contact with the world would have given him. In other words, I began
even then to fear the narrowing effects of the Bench and to prefer for
him a diverse experience which would give him an all-round professional
development.
He did not share this feeling in any way. His appointment on the
Superior Court was to him the welcome beginning of just the career he
wanted. After serving the interim of fourteen months he became a
candidate for the office and was elected for a term of five years. This
was the only elective office Mr. Taft ever held until he became
President.
My own time and interest during that winter was largely spent on my
house. We had been very particular about the plans for it and had fully
intended that it should combine outward impressiveness with inward
roominess and comfort. It was a frame structure, shingled all over, and
with certain bay window effects which pleased me exceedingly. In fact,
with our assistance, the architect had made a special effort to produce
something original and, while I don’t claim that the result was a
conspicuous architectural success, to my mind it was anything but a
failure. And our view of the Ohio River and the surrounding country was
really superb.
But I was not destined to enjoy my satisfaction with my surroundings
very long. The section had been at one time a stone quarry, and the man
who had levelled off the land and filled in the gulches made by the
quarry operations, took as a part of his compensation two building lots
which happened to be just across the street from ours. He forthwith
proceeded to put up a sort of double house which looked more like a
gigantic dry-goods box than anything else, and I felt that it quite
robbed the neighbourhood of the “tone” which I had confidently hoped our
house would give it. The double house had just one quality and that was
size.
I think the owner, whose name was Jerry something, lived in one side of
it, and he had a tenant in the other who hung clothes out of the front
windows. But tastes in architecture differ, as we soon found out.
We were paying taxes on our house at an assessed value of $4000 and the
undervaluation had been troubling my husband’s conscience for a long
time, in spite of my assuring him that tax collectors ought to know
their own business. Some men from the board of equalization were to call
one day to make a new appraisement and I had very much hoped that my
husband would not be at home. But he was; he was there to welcome them
and give them every possible assistance. Without waiting for an
examination of the premises, he addressed one of them, an Irishman named
Ryan.
“See here, Mr. Ryan,” he said, “I understand that Jerry, my neighbour
across the street, has his property assessed at $5000. Now I don’t think
that’s fair. I’m assessed at only $4000 and I’m sure my house cost a
good deal more than his. As a matter of fact it cost over $6000. Now I’m
a Judge of the Superior Court; I get my income out of taxes and I
certainly have no disposition to pay any less than my share.”
“Well, Judge, your Honour,” said Mr. Ryan, “that is a sentiment very
befitting your Honour. Now I’ll just be after goin’ over and lookin’ at
those houses of Jerry’s, and then I’ll come back and look at yours.”
I watched them as they went over to the other houses; then I saw them go
up the street a way and down the street a way, looking us carefully over
from every possible view-point. When they came in they wore a very
judicial aspect and I expected to see taxes go up with one wild leap.
“Well, Judge, your Honour,” began Mr. Ryan, “I think you’re givin’
yourself unnecessary concern. We assess houses for what they’re worth
and not for what they cost. While your house no doubt suits your taste,
it has a peculiar architectural style that wouldn’t please very many
people, and certainly it ain’t to compare with those houses of Jerry’s.
There’s a modern polish about those houses that will rent, Judge, your
Honour.”
My son Robert was born in this house on McMillan Street in September,
1889. In the following February an interruption occurred in our peaceful
existence which was welcome at least to me. President Harrison offered
the appointment of Solicitor General of the United States to Mr. Taft
and he, with a few regretful glances at his beloved Bench, accepted it.
I think that once again it was Major Butterworth who suggested my
husband’s name to the appointing power. I was very glad because it gave
Mr. Taft an opportunity for exactly the kind of work I wished him to do;
work in which his own initiative and originality would be exercised and
developed. I looked forward with interest, moreover, to a few years in
Washington.
Mr. Taft made his first official arrival in Washington alone. My baby,
Robert, was only six months old and I concluded to remain in Cincinnati
until my husband could make arrangements for our comfortable reception.
His description of his first day in Washington is, in the light of later
events, rather amusing.
He arrived at six o’clock on a cold, gloomy February morning at the old
dirty Pennsylvania station. He wandered out on the street with a heavy
bag in his hand looking for a porter, but there were no porters. Then he
stood for a few moments looking up at the Capitol and feeling dismally
unimportant in the midst of what seemed to him to be very formidable
surroundings. He wondered to himself why on earth he had come. He was
sure he had made a fatal mistake in exchanging a good position and a
pleasant circle at home, where everybody knew him, for a place in a
strange and forbidding city where he knew practically nobody and where,
he felt sure, nobody wanted to know him. He lugged his bag up to the old
Ebbitt House and, after eating a lonesome breakfast, he went to the
Department of Justice to be sworn in. After that ceremony was over and
he had shaken hands with the Attorney General, he went up to inspect the
Solicitor General’s Office, and there he met the most dismal sight of
the whole dismal day. His “quarters” consisted of a single room, three
flights up, and bearing not the slightest resemblance to his mental
picture of what the Solicitor General’s offices would be like. The
Solicitor General’s stenographer, it seemed, was a telegrapher in the
chief clerk’s office and had to be sent for when his services were
required. Altogether it must have been a very disheartening outlook.
As Mr. Taft sat looking over briefs and other papers, and trying to get
some definite idea about his new work, a messenger brought in a card.
“Mr. Evarts, New York,” it read.
Evarts was a well-known name, of course, but it was hard for Mr. Taft to
believe that _the_ William M. Evarts, leader of the American Bar and
then Senator from New York, could be calling on the Solicitor General of
less than a day. He knew that Wm. M. Evarts had known his father.
Mr. Evarts entered.
“Mr. Taft,” he said, as he gave my husband’s hand a cordial grasp, “I
knew your father. I was in the class of ’37 at Yale and he had graduated
before I entered; but he was there as a tutor in my time and I valued
his friendship very highly.”
Then the visitor came straight to the point.
“Mrs. Evarts and I are giving a dinner to-night for my former partner
and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Choate. Mr. Choate is in Washington
for a short time to argue a case before the Supreme Court. Now,
unfortunately, one of our guests has sent word that he can’t come and I
thought, perhaps, considering my long-standing friendship with your
father, you might consent to waive ceremony and fill the place at our
table at this short notice.”
My husband accepted the invitation with almost undue alacrity, and when
his guest left started in on his new duties feeling that, after all,
Washington might afford just as friendly an atmosphere as Cincinnati,
once he became accustomed to it.
There is just one incident in connection with the dinner party which Mr.
Taft adds to his account of that day. As he sat down to dinner the
ladies on either side of him leaned hastily forward to see what was
written on his place card. “The Solicitor General”—that was all. Of
course neither of them knew who the new Solicitor General was and it
didn’t occur to him to enlighten them until it was too late to do it
gracefully. So he allowed them to go on addressing him as “Mr. Solicitor
General” while he, having them at an advantage, addressed them by the
names which he had surreptitiously read on their place-cards. They were
Mrs. Henry Cabot Lodge and Mrs. John Hay.
[Illustration:
MRS. TAFT, WITH ROBERT AND HELEN, WHEN MR. TAFT WAS SOLICITOR GENERAL
]
When my husband had been in Washington two weeks I joined him and we
took a small house on Dupont Circle where for two years we lived a life,
sometimes amusing, sometimes quite exciting, but, on the whole, of quiet
routine.
Washington society was much simpler then than it is now. Since that time
a great many people of very large means have gone to Washington to live
because of its unusual attractions and its innumerable advantages as a
residential city. They have changed Washington, by their generous
hospitality, into one of the most brilliant social centres in the world,
where large dinner parties, balls, receptions, musicals and other
entertainments are of daily and nightly occurrence throughout the
season. The very character of the streets has changed. The small, red
brick houses, closely grouped together and neighbouring, even in
fashionable quarters, on negro shacks and cheap tenements, are being
everywhere replaced by marble and granite residences of great beauty and
luxury.
In 1890 Society in Washington still consisted, chiefly, of the “best
families” of the old city, the Diplomatic Corps and the highest among
the government officials. A dinner party of twelve was still considered
large, and only a few people had weekly evenings At Home. There were
occasional big receptions, but for nobody was society the mad rush that
it is to-day. We ourselves lived very simply even for those simple days.
My daughter Helen was born in 1891, so for the last year in Washington I
had two small babies to care for. In order that he might get a little
much needed exercise Mr. Taft bought a horse and, fortunately, for us,
he secured a most adaptable creature. He was supposed to be a riding
horse, but he didn’t mind making himself generally useful. The Attorney
General lent us a carriage which he was not then using—a surrey, I think
it was called—and we hitched him to that; and the whole Taft family
drove out of a Sunday afternoon to the Old Soldiers’ Home, which was the
fashionable drive in those days, or up the aqueduct road to Cabin John’s
bridge. My sister Maria who visited us used always to speak of our steed
as “G’up,” a name suggested by Bobby’s interpretation of his father’s
invocations to the good-natured and leisurely beast. Poor old “G’up”! I
suppose with his “horse sense” he finally realised that he was leading
such a double life as no respectable horse should lead; he gave up and
died before we left Washington.
The Justices of the Supreme Court and the Attorney General, the men with
whom Mr. Taft came most in contract, were, with their wives, very kind
and attentive to us, including us in many of their delightful parties.
Chief Justice Fuller was then the head of the court and I have the
pleasantest memories of his and Mrs. Fuller’s hospitality. Justice Grey
had married a Miss Matthews, a daughter of Mr. Justice Matthews. I had
known Mrs. Grey in Cincinnati before her marriage.
During the course of my first weeks in Washington Mr. Taft had taken
special pains to impress on me many times the necessity for my calling
on Mrs. Grey without any delay. Much importance attached to the
formality of first calls and I was the newest of newcomers who had to
call on the wives of all my husband’s official superiors before they
noticed me. Still, it was a full month before I had time to go to Mrs.
Grey’s and I was considerably worried about it. But when, finally, I did
go and had been most kindly received, I explained at once that the
settling of myself and my small baby in a new house had, until then,
kept me too busy for any calls. Mrs. Grey hastened to assure me that she
understood my position perfectly and had not thought of blaming me.
“Indeed, my dear,” she said, “I knew that you had a small baby in the
house and that you must be kept constantly occupied. As a matter of fact
I should have waived ceremony and come myself to welcome you to
Washington except for one thing which I could not very well overlook,
and that is—that Mr. Taft has not yet called on Mr. Justice Grey.”
I think I have rarely seen anything more satisfactorily amusing than the
expression on my husband’s face when I told him this.
But, in spite of the friendliness of the Justices and others, we really
went out very little. On one occasion when my sister Maria had been
visiting us for several weeks we went for a Sunday night supper to the
house of a lady whom Maria had known very well in Cincinnati. She was
living that winter in Washington and seemed to be rather well pleased
with her social success. She talked loftily throughout supper, and
during a good part of the evening, about the dinner parties she had
attended and the grand people she had met. Then just as we were about to
start home she turned to my sister and said:
“And have you been much entertained, my dear Maria?”
“Oh, I’ve been enjoying myself tremendously,” was the answer.
“Well, with whom have you dined, dear?” persisted our hostess.
“Why, we’ve dined with the Andersons, with the German Ambassador, with
the Chief Justice, and with the Maurys, and with the French
Ambassador,—and with, oh, a number of other people.”
Our hostess was visibly impressed.
“Why! you really have been very gay, haven’t you, dear!” she exclaimed.
When we got into our cab to go home Maria turned to my husband and said:
“I had my eye on you all the time I was talking, Will Taft. I was
perfectly certain that your terrible sense of fact would overcome you
and that you would blurt out that I dined with all those people on the
same evening at the same dinner party!”
President Harrison, in March, 1892, appointed my husband on the Federal
Circuit Bench, so once more I saw him a colleague of men almost twice
his age and, I feared, fixed in a groove for the rest of his life.
However, he was greatly pleased and very proud to hold such a dignified
and responsible position at the age of thirty-four. I think he enjoyed
the work of the following eight years more than any he has ever
undertaken.
We moved back to Cincinnati. Mr. Taft’s circuit included parts of Ohio,
Kentucky, Tennessee, and Michigan—reached in fact, from Lookout Mountain
to Marquette, and he was much away from home. My own life during those
years in Cincinnati was very busy, for, in addition to my occupation
with family and friends, I became interested in a number of civic
movements.
My principal work was the organisation and management of the Cincinnati
Orchestra Association. I found, at last, a practical method for
expressing and making use of my love and knowledge of music.
We had not had a good symphony orchestra in the city since Theodore
Thomas left, but with our music-loving population it was only necessary
that somebody should take the initiative and arouse definite enthusiasm
and keep it going, in order to establish and maintain such an
institution. There were many public-spirited citizens, some of them true
music-loving Germans, and I saw no reason why I should not get strong
popular support for my project. I was not disappointed. From the first
the response was general and generous and we did not have much
difficulty in raising the necessary funds for financing the orchestra,
although in addition to our box-office receipts, we had to secure
$30,000 a year for six consecutive years. It could not have been done
had it not been for such liberal friends as my brother and sister, Mr.
and Mrs. Charles P. Taft, Mr. Charles Krippendorf, Mr. M. E. Ingalls,
Mr. and Mrs. L. A. Ault, Mrs. Charles Fleishmann, Mr. J. G. Schmidlapp
and others.
For the first year we had three different directors, Mr. Seidl, Mr.
Schradick and Mr. Van der Stücken, who came to Cincinnati and led two
concerts each. Then we secured Mr. Van der Stücken as a permanent leader
and he remained with the orchestra ten years.
I think I regretted the Cincinnati Orchestra Association more than
anything else when we left for the Philippines, but I left it in good
and well-trained hands. Mrs. C. R. Holmes, who succeeded me as President
of the Association, had taken a great part in the original work of
organisation and management, as had my sister-in-law, Mrs. Charles P.
Taft, and others. Through their efforts the orchestra has been enlarged
and improved and it is still a source of great pride and satisfaction to
the city of Cincinnati. Mrs. Charles Taft is now the President and
through her interest, activity and generosity it has been enabled to
grow in excellence.
Except for the orchestra, our life was tranquil; quite too settled, I
thought, and filled with the usual homely incidents connected with
housekeeping and the entertaining development of small children. My
youngest child, Charles, was born in 1897, and my family was thus
complete.
I come now to the years which we gave to the Philippine Islands and I
must say that I wonder yet how our lot happened to be so cast.
There had never been any unusual interest in our family as to the
results of the Spanish-American War. Like most patriotic Americans we
had been greatly excited while the war was in progress and had discussed
its every phase and event with a warmth of approval, or disapproval, as
the case might be, but it did not touch us directly, except as citizens,
any more than it touched the vast majority of the people of the United
States. And yet, it came to mean more to us personally, than any other
event in our times. The whole course of my husband’s career was destined
to be changed and influenced by its results.
Mr. Taft was strongly opposed to taking the Philippines. He was not an
anti-imperialist in the sense that he believed the Constitution required
us to keep the boundaries of the United States within their continental
limits, but he thought the Antipodes rather a far stretch for the
controlling hand, and he thought the taking of the Philippines would
only add to our problems and responsibilities without increasing, in any
way, the effectiveness and usefulness of our government.
Oddly enough, he had expressed himself to that effect when he happened,
during the Spanish War, to be dining with a number of judges including
Justice Harlan who, although later an anti-imperialist, was at that time
strongly upholding the policy of taking over Spanish territory in both
oceans.
Mr. Taft knew just about as much about the Filipino people as the
average American knew in those days. What he definitely knew was that
they had been for more than three centuries under Spanish dominion and
that they now wanted political independence. He was heartily in favour
of giving it to them.
It was one day in January, 1900, that he came home greatly excited and
placed before me a telegram.
“What do you suppose that means?” said he.
“I would like to see you in Washington on important business within the
next few days. On Thursday if possible,” it read. And it was
signed—William McKinley.
We didn’t know and we couldn’t think what possible business the
President could have with him. I began to conjure up visions of Supreme
Court appointments; though I knew well enough that Supreme Court
appointments were not tendered in that fashion and besides there was no
vacancy.
Mr. Taft lost no time in responding to the President’s summons and I
awaited his return with as much patience as I could muster. In three
days he came home with an expression so grave that I thought he must be
facing impeachment. But when he broke his news to me it gave me nothing
but pleasure.
“The President wants me to go to the Philippine Islands,” he said, in a
tone he might have used in saying: “The President wants me to go out and
jump off the court house dome.” “Want to go?” he added.
“Yes, of course,” I answered without a moment’s hesitation. I wasn’t
sure what it meant, but I knew instantly that I didn’t want to miss a
big and novel experience. I have never shrunk before any obstacles when
I had an opportunity to see a new country and I must say I have never
regretted any adventure.
“The President and Mr. Root want to establish a civil government in the
Philippines,” said Mr. Taft, “and they want me to go out at the head of
a commission to do it.” It was only after I had accepted the invitation
to go ten thousand miles away that I asked for an explanation.
In answer to the President’s proposal, Mr. Taft said that he didn’t
approve of the acquisition of the Philippines in the first place, and
that in the second place he knew nothing about colonial government and
had had really no experience in executive work of any kind. But Mr.
McKinley did not accept these objections as final. He called in Mr.
Root, who was then Secretary of War, and who would be Mr. Taft’s chief
in the proposed mission to the Philippines, and together they presented
the case so strongly that my husband could not help but waver in his
decision. Neither Mr. McKinley nor Mr. Root had rejoiced in the taking
over of the Philippines for that matter, but that was beside the
question; the Philippines were taken, and it behooved the United States
to govern them until such time as their people had learned the difficult
art of governing themselves.
Mr. Root said:
“The work to be done in the Philippines is as great as the work
Livingston had to do in Louisiana. It is an opportunity for you to do
your country a great service and achieve for yourself a reputation for
the finest kind of constructive work. You have had a very fortunate
career. While you are only slightly over forty you have had eight years
on the Federal Bench, three years on the State Bench and two years as
Solicitor General. These places you have filled well, but they have been
places which involved no sacrifice on your part. Here is a field which
calls for risk and sacrifice. Your country is confronted with one of the
greatest problems in its history, and you, Judge Taft, are asked to take
immediate charge of the solution of that problem 7,000 miles away from
home. You are at the parting of the ways. Will you take the easier
course, the way of least resistance, with the thought that you had an
opportunity to serve your country and declined it because of its
possible sacrifice, or will you take the more courageous course and,
risking much, achieve much? This work in the Philippines will give you
an invaluable experience in building up a government and in the study of
laws needed to govern a people, and such experience cannot but make you
a broader, better judge should you be called upon again to serve your
country in that capacity.”
My husband promised to consult with me and with his brother Charles and
give his answer in a few days. He didn’t know whether or not I would be
willing to go, but that was a question soon settled.
His resignation of his judgeship was the greatest difficulty. The
President told him he did not think it would be at all necessary for him
to resign since the work in the Philippines would take only about six
months—nine months at the longest—and that he could absent himself from
his duties for that length of time, and for such a purpose, without fear
of any kind of unfortunate consequences. Mr. Taft’s investigation and
study of the situation immediately convinced him that Mr. McKinley was
wrong in his expectation that the work could be done so quickly. Nor did
Mr. Root have any such idea. Even with the meagre information which was
then available, my husband at once saw that it would be years before the
Philippine problem would begin to solve itself. So he resigned from the
Bench; the hardest thing he ever did.
After sending in his acceptance he went immediately to Washington to
discuss with Mr. McKinley and Mr. Root the whole situation and,
especially, the names of four other men who were to be chosen to serve
with him on the Commission. He had met Mr. Worcester, a member of the
first Commission, and had got from him a great deal of valuable data. If
Professor Shurman, the chairman of the first Commission, had become a
member of the second, he probably would have been at its head, but he
did not, and this position fell to Mr. Taft. He was thereafter known as
President of the Commission, until civil government was organised in the
Philippines and he became governor.
After he had gone to Washington I began at once to make hasty, and I may
say, happy preparations for my adventure into a new sphere. That it was
alluring to me I did not deny to anybody. I had no premonition as to
what it would lead to; I did not see beyond the present attraction of a
new and wholly unexplored field of work which would involve travel in
far away and very interesting countries. I read with engrossing interest
everything I could find on the subject of the Philippines, but a
delightful vagueness with regard to them, a vagueness which was general
in the United States at that time, and has not, even yet, been entirely
dispelled, continued in my mind. There were few books to be found, and
those I did find were not specially illuminating.
I gave up my house in Cincinnati and stored my belongings, packing for
shipment to the Orient only such things as I thought would be absolutely
necessary. We were to leave almost immediately and I had very little
time in which to do a great many things. Mr. Taft came back to
Cincinnati for a short period and we entered upon a busy season of
good-bye hospitality. Everybody we knew, and we knew nearly everybody,
wanted to give us a farewell dinner or entertainment of some sort. Mr.
Taft, especially, was fêted in a way which proved to him how much more
widely he was valued in his native town than he had ever realised. In
the opinions of people then we were going, sure enough, to the ends of
the earth, and many of our friends were as mournful about it as if they
had private foreknowledge that it was to be a fatal adventure.
When the banquets and dinners and luncheons and receptions and teas had
all been given; when the speeches had all been made, and the good-byes
had all been said, Mr. Taft hastened off to Washington once more to meet
his colleagues and make final arrangements, and I was not to see him
again until we met in San Francisco a week before the date set for
sailing.
I asked my sister Maria to go with me for the first year, and she
accepted with delight. So, one morning in early April, with our world
waving at us from the platform of the station, we started south to join
the Southern Pacific railroad at New Orleans and to make our way from
there to Los Angeles and so to San Francisco.
[Illustration:
CHARLIE TAFT WHEN HE WENT TO THE PHILIPPINES
]
I had with me my three children, Robert, Helen and Charlie. Robert was
ten years old, Helen eight, while Charlie, my baby, was just a little
over two. It did not occur to me that it was a task to take them on such
a long journey, or that they would be exposed to any danger through the
experience. They were normal, healthy and very self-reliant little
people and I made preparations for their going without giving the matter
a moment’s unhappy consideration. But I was to receive a few shocks in
this connection later on. One of these came when I learned that some
members of the party had left their children at home for fear of the
Philippine climate. Then one day, at the old Palace Hotel in San
Francisco, I was sitting on guard over Charlie as he played up and down
a wide corridor, and reading a book at intervals, when along came an
odd-looking elderly gentleman who stopped to regard the boy with a smile
of the kindliest amusement. Charlie was an attractive child. Even I
couldn’t help but see that, and I was used to having people stop to
watch him. He had big, dark eyes, soft, brown curls, very deep dimples,
and a charming smile that was always in evidence. The elderly gentleman
stood watching him for some little time, his face growing gradually very
grave, and I wondered what he was thinking about. He didn’t keep me
wondering long. After a few moments he stepped deliberately up to me and
said:
“Madam, I understand you are going to the Philippine Islands. Now I want
to know if you are going to take that great, big, beautiful boy out to
that pest-ridden hole and expose him to certain destruction.”
I grabbed my great, big, beautiful boy and rushed off to my room, and it
was a relief eventually to learn that the awful Philippine climate, at
least so far as children were concerned, existed, largely, in people’s
minds.
We found intense interest in our mission in California and San
Francisco. If there were any anti-imperialists there, they successfully
concealed themselves. The East was uncomfortably crowded with them in
those days, but the evident interest and profit that the West coast
would derive from a large Philippine trade may have been responsible for
the favourable attitude of the Californians. However, we must not
impeach their patriotism, and we ought to attribute some of their
enthusiasm in reference to the Philippines, and our assuming control
over them, to the natural enterprise of a people who had themselves gone
so far in a land of development and hope.
Everything that could be done to make smooth the path of the new
Commission was done. At their own request the powers of the
Commissioners were carefully defined so that complications with the
military government then in force in the islands, might be avoided. They
were given equal rank with ministers plenipotentiary in the matter of
naval courtesies and precedence; and Mr. Root drafted a letter of
instructions, which the President signed, outlining their duties in such
precise and correct detail that it was afterward adopted and ratified in
its entirety in the act of Congress by which the Philippine government
was established.
So—I believed we were going to have “smooth sailing” in every sense,
when we started on the long voyage with which began this interesting
experience.