SECRETARY OF WAR
To illustrate what seems to me to be rather widely contrasted views of
the position of Secretary of War for the United States, I think I must
relate two experiences I had in the beginning of Mr. Taft’s career in
that office.
Before we left Manila his appointment had been announced and as we
passed through Japan en route to Washington we were received with all
the ceremony and official dignity that the Japanese naturally would
consider proper to the entertainment of the War Minister of a great and
friendly foreign power. This was experience number one.
It was just before the outbreak of hostilities between Russia and Japan,
and General Kuropotkin, the Russian Minister of War, had very recently
been in Tokyo and had been accorded a welcome so elaborate that it
became historic. It satisfied the Japanese conception of courtesy to an
exalted foreign visitor and we discovered that it was to serve as a
model for our own reception, though our time was so short that the
programme had to be considerably modified.
Had we remained with our ship to Yokohama there would have been no
opportunity to entertain us at all, but a special train was sent to meet
us at Nagasaki, the first port of call on the homeward voyage, and
nearly the whole length of the Empire from Tokyo, and we were whisked
through ahead of everything two or three days in advance of our ship,
which had to make two more stops before proceeding to Yokohama.
We were the guests of the nation and were conducted from one function to
another with the greatest honour and official formality. Among other
arrangements made for our entertainment was a luncheon at the Palace
with the Emperor and Empress, and Mr. Taft was permitted, in his
capacity of a war secretary, to witness the evolutions of a crack
Japanese regiment, of 3,000 troops ready for the field massed on a
single great parade ground.
The Japanese Minister of War, General Terauchi, was a soldier—which
seems fitting, and which is usual in most countries I believe—and he
assumed at once, in common with all the other Army officers whom he
encountered, that Mr. Taft was a soldier, too. This has nothing to do
with my immediate story, but I remember it as one of the most amusing
circumstances of that visit to Japan. Whatever Mr. Taft may be he is not
martial, but these Japanese warriors proceeded to credit him with all
manner of special knowledge which he had never had an opportunity to
acquire and to speak to him in technical terms which, it must be
admitted, strained his ability for concealing his ignorance. He finally
said that if anybody asked him again about the muzzle velocity of a
Krag-Jorgensen, or any like question, he intended to reply: “Sh! It’s a
secret!”
General Kodama, who afterward made himself world-famous as Chief of
Staff during the Russo-Japanese War, had been Military Governor of
Formosa and he was especially interested in Mr. Taft because he
conceived that in the Philippines we had a parallel for their Formosan
problem. He grew quite confidential, telling Mr. Taft many things about
the Japanese administration of Formosan affairs and drawing comparisons
between his difficulties and those that we had encountered under similar
circumstances. He ended by saying:
“We had to kill a good many thousands of those people before they would
be good. But then, of course, you understand,—you know,—you know!”
This story could not have been told at that time because there were
groups of active anti-Imperialists in the United States who would have
pounced upon it as something to be made the most of as an argument for
their cause, but in the light of history that has been made I think it
is safe to tell it now. Mr. Taft had to admit that he was a man of
peace, that so far as he personally was concerned he had never killed
nor ordered killed a single Filipino in his life, and that his whole
endeavour had been to form a friendly alliance with the Philippine
people and to dissuade them from indulgence in the personal danger
involved in their useless opposition to temporary American control.
We made something of a triumphal progress through Japan during our short
stay and were escorted to our ship by numerous dignitaries who were
extremely gracious and who cheered us on our way with such “banzais!”
and such a waving of flags as made me feel that we were quite important
personages. Later on I had my sense of the importance of my position
rudely shaken. There is one thing to be said for the American Republic
and that is that no public official is permitted to retain for very long
a too exalted opinion of himself.
One day shortly after my arrival in Washington, I was at tea at the
house of a friend and found myself in conversation with a lady, the wife
of an Army officer, whom I had known in Manila. We talked around and
about various subjects, after the manner of ladies at a tea, when she
finally said to me:
“You know, Mrs. Taft, I have thought about you so often and wondered how
you liked it here in Washington after your life in Manila. Why, out
there you were really a queen, and you come back here and are _just
nobody_!”
There was another lady who sat next to my husband at a dinner one night.
It was a place of honour, next to a Cabinet officer, and she no doubt
considered it necessary to “make conversation” while the candle-lights
shone. She went along quite successfully for awhile, but eventually
blundered into this:
“Do you know, Mr. Secretary, I really think you ought to go out and see
the Philippine Islands. They say they are so interesting!”
Poor man, most of his reputation, such as it then was, had been made in
the Philippine service, but he replied to her:
“That’s right, I should go. And I’m going, too, just as soon as I can
possibly get away.”
He meant that. He had promised the Filipinos that he would return to
open their first Assembly, and even then he had a fixed desire to lead a
party of American Congressmen to the country whose affairs they were
endeavouring to settle by long distance legislation founded upon very
mixed and, in some cases, greatly distorted, second-hand information.
Mr. Taft became Secretary of War at the beginning of 1904, but I spent
the remainder of the winter after our arrival in the United States in
Santa Barbara and did not join him until May, when I met him at St.
Louis, where he went to open the Louisiana Purchase Exposition.
President Roosevelt was to have done this, but urgent affairs kept him
in Washington, so the Secretary of War was asked to represent him and to
make the speech which announced to the world the inauguration of this
great Fair. I remember the occasion especially because I had been so
long out of touch with the kind of buoyant Americanism which made itself
felt in St. Louis that I had almost lost my own identity with it, and I
began then to think that it was really good to be back in my own
country.
I knew fairly well what it would mean to settle down in Washington as
the wife of a Cabinet officer because I had lived in Washington before.
While I didn’t expect to be and didn’t expect anybody to consider me
“just nobody” I knew that it would not be at all like entering upon the
duties and privileges of the wife of the Governor of the Philippine
Islands. I thought what a curious and peculiarly American sort of
promotion it was which carried with it such diminished advantages.
My first necessity in my generally considered enviable position was to
find a house in Washington large enough to contain my family, to permit
such participation in social life as would be expected of us, and the
rent for which would not wholly exhaust the stipend then allowed to a
Cabinet officer.
Eight thousand dollars a year, sufficient income though it may be
when it is expected to accommodate itself to an ordinary
eight-thousand-dollars-a-year standard of living, shrinks alarmingly
when its recipient is expected to maintain on it the dignity of a
Cabinet position. If we had not had some private resources I don’t
quite see how we could have managed. Fortunately for my husband, and
more so for his successors in office, this figure was raised to
twelve thousand before he left the War Department, and still there
are complaints which I am amply able to appreciate.
We finally settled, on the first of October after my arrival at
Washington, in a pleasant, old-fashioned house on K Street near 16th. It
was not the most elegantly equipped house available, but we preferred a
little extra space to the more elaborate modern conveniences, so we took
it.
We were spared one item of expense by having the use of the War
Department carriage and its big Irish coachman, Quade. Quade was quite a
character. He had been at one time in the artillery service and had
occupied the position in which we found him through several
administrations. He was never able to lose the habits and manners of an
artillery man, and Mr. Roosevelt used to say he never drove behind him
without feeling as if he were on the caisson of a gun wagon going into
action. He kept his horses in fine condition, though a trifle too fat
perhaps, and he took great pride in the speed he could get out of them.
He would swing around corners and dash past street cars and other
vehicles in a way that was anything but soothing to sensitive nerves,
but there was no use protesting. Quade’s character was fully formed.
He used to feed Mr. Taft’s private riding horse at the public expense,
and Mr. Taft didn’t approve of this. He thought he ought to include the
pay for its keep in his personal accounts, and he told Quade so, asking
him at the same time to have a bill made out so that he might settle it.
Quade regarded him in utter disgust for a moment, then said:
“Well, Misther Sicretary, what with the good an’ plinty o’ fodder we got
in the stables, I guess ye can go on a-feedin’ your horse here without
the Government’s a-worryin’ anny.”
I remember going one day to a reception at the house of Justice Harlan
on the occasion of his twenty-fifth anniversary on the bench. President
Roosevelt was already there and as we drove up we found the bicycle
policemen surrounding the entrance waiting for him. Quade, with great
friendliness but with an absolute lack of decorum, leaned over on the
box and shouted to them as we passed:
“Ah, Begorra! Ye’ll be a-waitin’ around fer my boss one o’ these days!”
Faithful Quade lived to see his prophecy fulfilled, but not long
afterward he lost his life at his post of duty in a shocking accident.
He was driving the Department carriage for Secretary of War Dickinson’s
family; the pole broke, the horses became frightened and bolted. There
were young children and a nurse in the carriage, so Quade bravely held
on to the reins and finally succeeded in turning the horses into a
fence. He saved the occupants of the carriage from injury, but he
himself was thrown forward violently, falling in such a way as to break
his neck.
Another War department employé whom we valued highly was Arthur Brooks,
a coloured department messenger, and a major of militia. Arthur was the
most useful individual I ever knew anything about, combining absolute
loyalty with an efficiency and accuracy that were most comforting to his
employers. He went into the War Department during President Arthur’s
administration and gradually won for himself a position of especial
trust. Mr. Root, as Secretary of War, found Arthur most valuable and
reposed the utmost confidence in him.
For me he did all kinds of things which without him would probably have
been done very badly. He “managed” all my larger entertainments, being
present, after I had done all I could by way of preparation, to see that
everybody was properly received, that the service ran smoothly and that
nothing went amiss. When Mr. Taft became President he had Arthur
transferred to the position of custodian of the White House and I shall
have occasion to speak of him in that capacity later on.
Taking things all in all, I think we managed to get on very well indeed,
though I did sometimes sigh for the luxurious simplicity and the entire
freedom from petty household details that I had left behind me in
Manila. I did not find that my very large and very black cook was so
capable as to make me forget the excellencies and the almost soundless
orderliness of Ah Sing; nor did my coloured butler and one housemaid
quite manage to take the places of Ah King and Chang, my two upstairs
“Chinaboys” at Malacañan. As for the six or eight barefoot _muchachos_
who “skated” my Philippine hardwood floors to a state of mirror gloss
and kept everything speckless without ever seeming to do any work at
all, they could have no substitute in a Washington establishment.
The life of a “Cabinet lady” newly arrived in the Capital is one of
rather monotonous stress. In the first place she is expected to call on
nearly everybody who calls on her, and, of course, nearly everybody does
that. This custom in my time was especially insisted upon with regard to
the wives of all the Congressmen and of all the men connected with the
various departments. Then there were the wives of the members of the
Supreme Court, women whose husbands were connected with the many
different bureaus and a large and most attractive civilian society which
contributes so much to the gaiety of the city. And besides all these
there were the Army women, any number of them.
Every afternoon throughout the winter when I was not “at home” myself I
started out on certain rounds of calls, and I think I made as many calls
as any one I knew. Irksome to me as this duty sometimes was, in the
formal discharge of it I made some of the pleasantest friends I ever
had. I have always found Army women particularly delightful, and it is
easy to understand why they are so. In the course of their wanderings
and their many changes of habitation, and in consequence of the
happy-go-lucky attitude toward life that they are bound to assume, they
acquire a cordiality of manner and an all-round generous tone which make
them very attractive.
One morning each week Mrs. Roosevelt held a meeting of the Cabinet
ladies at the White House, but this was not a social affair. We met to
discuss various matters supposed to be of interest to us all, and would
gather in the library from eleven to twelve for this purpose.
After calling, the most important social duty devolving upon a Cabinet
officer’s wife is dining out. We always dined out when we were not
giving a dinner party at our own house, so that from the time Mr. Taft
became Secretary of War we almost ceased to know what it was to have “a
quiet evening at home.” Of course such a life gave us an opportunity for
meeting many interesting men and women who contributed much to the sum
total of what the world seemed to have in store for us.
It has been the custom through a good many administrations for the
President, sometime during the season between December first and Lent,
to dine with each member of the Cabinet, and all other members of the
Cabinet, with only a few outside guests, were usually invited to these
parties. It can easily be imagined that they did not offer much
variation, especially in view of the fact that hard and fast rules of
precedence settled for the hostess just where each of her guests should
sit. Mr. Roosevelt did not care for this custom, so during his last
Administration it became usual to ask to such dinners only people
outside the “official family,” as it is called. The dinner to Mr. and
Mrs. Roosevelt which we gave each year was our most ambitious social
function and it was my desire always to invite as many persons as
possible who would themselves prove entertaining and who would not be
likely to meet the President in the ordinary course of events. I often
asked friends from different parts of the country to visit us for the
occasion.
Every Wednesday afternoon all the ladies of the Cabinet were “at home”
and nearly all Washington called on each of them. Then, too, the casual
visitors to the Capital were free to attend these informal receptions
and I used to be surprised at the number of curious strangers who found
their way into my drawing room.
However, this is only a glimpse in general of the life of a Cabinet lady
during the regular social season. Fortunately for me my husband was,
from the very beginning, a travelling Secretary. I remember most of the
cartoons of those days pictured him either as “sitting on the lid,”
wreathed in cherubic smiles, while President Roosevelt rushed off on
some flying trip, or as himself making a frantic dash for the rear
platform of a moving train. The rush of Mr. Roosevelt was always
expressed by the backward sweep of the ribbon attached to his
eyeglasses, while Mr. Taft was usually pictured with a perspiring look,
his hat lifted off his head by the wind and a busy looking suitcase,
labelled in large letters: “Taft,” swinging wildly along behind him. And
these cartoons were rather accurately descriptive of real conditions.
I had hardly got my house on K Street in order before something happened
in Panama which made it imperative for the Secretary of War to go down
to the Isthmus and give the situation his personal attention. There was
a state of popular discontent among the Panamanians complicated by
question of zone boundaries, jurisdiction, postal regulations, tariff
inequalities and a few other matters, and by that time we had too much
at stake in the Canal Zone to risk long distance or dilatory regulation.
The building of the Panama Canal was not included in the business of the
War Department until after Mr. Taft became Secretary, nor was there at
that time any definite idea of having it done by the Army Engineer
Corps, but it has long been recognised that in the War Portfolio
accommodation can be found for any and every kind of governmental
problem, and Mr. Taft had not been Secretary long before Mr. Roosevelt
transferred the administration of Canal Zone affairs to his already
well-laden shoulders.
I was very glad to have an opportunity to see the beginning of what I
knew was to be the greatest enterprise ever undertaken by the United
States, so I fully approved of my husband’s suggestion that I accompany
him to Panama. Señor Obaldia, the Panamanian Minister to Washington,
went also, and among others in the very interesting party were Rear
Admiral J. G. Walker, President of the Canal Commission, Judge Charles
G. Magoon, law officer of the Commission, and Mr. Nelson W. Cromwell,
counsel for the Republic of Panama.
On this trip Mr. Taft went to Panama as a representative of the
President of the United States for the purpose of presenting to the
President of Panama a message of friendship, and to make, if possible,
an amicable adjustment of the differences between American and
Panamanian interests.
It was in November, 1904. We went from Washington to New Orleans and
were greeted in a kindly manner all along the way. When we arrived we
were met by a most imposing committee of citizens who escorted us to our
hotel. No sooner were we installed, in the midst of all the luxury that
could be prepared for us, than Governor Blanchard, with due ceremony and
accompanied by members of his staff in uniform, called to pay his
official respects. We hadn’t very long to stay, but every hour was
filled with entertainments made memorable by the courteous and highbred
lavishness for which New Orleans is famed, the only private event of our
visit being a dinner with Archbishop Chapelle, now dead, who was
Archbishop of Manila when Mr. Taft first went to the Philippines and
with whom he good-naturedly, but persistently, disagreed on the
important problems connected with the necessary disentanglement of the
affairs of Church and State in the Islands.
We sailed on the little _Dolphin_ from New Orleans to Pensacola, where
the cruiser _Columbia_ lay waiting to take us down to Panama, and it was
to the boom of saluting guns, the cheers of hospitable Pensacola
citizens and the strains of “The Star Spangled Banner” that we got under
way on this first memorable trip to the Canal Zone.
We arrived at Colon on a Sunday morning, and I remember distinctly that
it seemed more like “getting home” than like getting to a strange place.
The whole atmosphere and surroundings, the people, the language they
spoke, the houses and streets, the rank earth odours and the very feel
of the air reminded me so strongly of the Philippines as to give me
immediately a delightful sense of friendly familiarity with everything
and everybody.
We were met at Colon by the vice-President of Panama, Señor Arosemana,
and a number of other Panamanian officials, by General Davis, then
Governor of the Canal Zone, and by Mr. John Barrett, the American
Minister to Panama. A private train was waiting to take us across the
Isthmus and we lost no time in getting started. Our visit had been
“programmed” almost to the last hour of our time, and the first event
was to be an exchange of formalities between the Secretary of War and
the President of Panama that very afternoon.
When we got to the city of Panama just before luncheon we went to the
home of Mr. Wallace, the Chief Engineer, whose guests we were to be
during our stay, and early in the afternoon Mr. Taft, accompanied by
uniformed aides and other Army officers, with enough ceremony to satisfy
even the most formal, went to call on President Amador. The call was
promptly returned with due formality, and the decks were then considered
“cleared for action.”
Negotiations began at once, but the conferences were private, and in our
daily round of sightseeing and social diversions it did not seem that
the delicate machinery of diplomatic transaction was in motion at all.
Our Minister, Mr. Barrett, had a charming house in the old tropic city
and on the Monday evening after our arrival he gave a dinner at which
were gathered many high officials of the Panama Republic as well as all
the interesting Americans who were then directing our great Canal
building enterprise. Mr. Barrett, being a bachelor, placed President
Amador opposite himself; he took Madame Amador at his right; Mr. Taft
sat next to her, while I occupied the place at the right of the
President and had on my other side Señor Arias, the Minister of Foreign
Affairs. General Davis, Mr. Wallace, Colonel Gorgas—“the man of the
hour” during that cleaning-up period,—many Army officers and Cabinet
Ministers in full regalia and many decorations, with their wives, were
seated in order of rank along the sides of the great table, which, laden
with flowers and gleaming glass and candles, made a picture long to be
remembered even by one whose memory is overcrowded with dinner-party
scenes.
The formality of this occasion, however, began and ended with its
costuming and its beautiful tropic “setting.” Nearly everybody,
including the President and Madame Amador, spoke English as well as
Spanish, and the evening was gay from the outset. There is a wonderful
fish caught in Panama waters; I wish I could remember its name; it is
delicious and rare beyond description, and our pleasantries began with
the President’s demand for a second helping which the embarrassed host
and the more than flustered servants were unable to supply. The
persiflage then turned upon the unenviable position of a bachelor
diplomat and we all advised Mr. Barrett to get married. He parried our
jibes as best he could until President Amador volunteered the
information that the American Minister was honorary President of the
Iris Club, an association of some three hundred-odd of the choicest
girls in Panama. “And he can’t get one out of the lot,” said the
President.
After dinner a large reception was held in the salon which, as in all
Spanish houses in the tropics, was on what might be called the second
floor, the first floor being only a sort of plastered and stone-paved
street-level basement. The highly-polished floor of the big room didn’t
look to me to be particularly safe and I suppose Mr. Barrett observed my
worried looks as it “gave” under the weight of my husband. He hastened
to reassure me by telling me that he had taken the precaution to have it
shored up with heavy timbers under the spot where Mr. Taft was to stand
to receive the long line of guests. He seemed to consider this a fine
joke, but I thought it a most commendable measure.
When we arrived in Panama we were not at all certain that we should find
the country in a state of tranquillity; nor did we exactly; though by
prompt action the President had nipped a budding revolution only a short
time before. Hostilities had been averted, but the people were in a bad
temper and it was thought best to keep them “merely guessing” while the
negotiations between the Secretary of War and the Panamanian government
were in progress, and much of Mr. Taft’s time, therefore, was spent
behind the closed doors of President Amador’s council chamber.
In the meantime I made myself familiar with the wonderful American
project which brought the Panama Republic into existence. The Canal then
was a sorry sight. The public clamour in the United States was for
“making the dirt fly,” but it did not look to a mere layman as if we
could ever make it fly fast enough or in sufficient quantities to really
bring the two oceans together. All along the line of operations the old
French machinery lay buried in pathetic ruin in a tropic jungle which
had all but effaced the evidences of the French enterprise, and such
conditions of general unhealthiness prevailed as made it seem almost too
much to expect that any kind of clean-up programme could be made
effectual.
But all that story has been told; told in actual accomplishment with
which all the world is familiar. I am only glad that I saw Colonel
Gorgas and his men in that initial and contagious enthusiasm which,
being sustained, resulted in a record of which we are all so proud.
The Panamanians are nothing if not expansively hospitable. On the 4th of
December, after we had been on the Isthmus a couple of weeks and while
the results of the official negotiations were still, as far as any one
knew, “in the lap of the gods,” an ocean steamship was chartered by a
company of hosts, and about three hundred guests, the élite of the whole
republic, were invited for a picnic party to the Pearl Islands in the
Bay of Panama, and a sail out into the Pacific Ocean. It was an all-day
expedition and included the exploration of the beautiful little group,
some pearl-diving for our especial benefit, a most amazing luncheon, and
a dance on deck, to the music of a stringed band in gay and most
decorative uniforms, at which Mr. Taft made a tremendous “hit.” The tiny
Panamanian woman who first danced with him was thought to be very
courageous, but as one after another followed suit his reputation grew
and it finally was conceded, in the midst of great merriment, that he
was as light of foot as the slimmest Panamanian of them all.
Having always been used to my husband’s dancing, and knowing how much he
likes it, I never thought of it as anything unusual, but during the days
when he was being “boomed” for the Presidency and was therefore much in
the public prints, it was made the subject of frequent jest. I have one
bit of doggerel in my scrap-book which appeared in the Baltimore
_American_ after the reception we gave on the occasion of General
Kuroki’s visit to this country, and the last verse of which runs:
That Taft is just a wonder
Is a thing which we all know;
That as Presidential thunder
His big boom is like to go.
But as butterfly, blooms sipping,
And as waltzer, simply ripping!
’Tis a sight to see Taft tripping
On the light fantastic toe!
As a matter of fact he dances exceedingly well, if his wife who has been
dancing with him for the past thirty years may say so.
When we returned from the Pearl Islands to Panama City that evening we
were met by a pleasing surprise. The text of the agreement which had
been reached by Mr. Taft and the government of Panama, and which had not
been mentioned by anybody all day, had been made public during our
absence and newsboys were crying “extras” in all the streets, while
excited groups stood about here and there wreathed in smiles and talking
with great animation. Everybody seemed wholly satisfied and wherever we
went we were met with cheers and cries of “Viva!”
The keynote sounded in this agreement was that justice should be done at
Panama. Mr. Taft interpreted the treaty between our country and the
infant republic; he adjusted the differences with regard to postal
regulations and the tariff; he defined the harbour boundaries; and, much
to the satisfaction of the Panamanians, he kept within the hands of the
American authorities all matters pertaining to the public health. The
people realised the necessity for a pure water supply, for sewer
systems, clean and well-paved streets, and the elimination of the dread
diseases which made the Isthmus a death trap for white men, and all
these things America offered to Panama as a free gift that the great
work of building the Canal might go on. If vociferous cheers are an
expression of gratitude the people were grateful.
The next day a great demonstration took place in Cathedral Plaza. We
stood on a balcony of the Grand Central Hotel, on one side of the square
and opposite the Cathedral, and looked out across a veritable sea of
moving, swaying, white-clad humanity. As far as one could see in every
direction there were people, and when Mr. Taft stepped to the balcony
rail to address them they gave voice to a cheer which made it seem
certain that all cause for quarrel between us had happily been removed.
There had been vague rumours that the deposed War Minister of the Panama
government who had attempted to start the rebellion would, with his
followers, take this occasion to make a hostile demonstration, but he
was evidently sensible enough to realise that his was an unpopular
cause. Moreover, his original army of two hundred and fifty men had been
reduced to twenty-five, and if that were not discouraging enough he had
only to contemplate the natty American Marine corps in the Canal Zone
and the Pacific squadron, including the _New York_, the _Boston_, the
_Bennington_ and the _Marblehead_, lying out in Panama harbour
unobtrusively but very positively guaranteeing peace.
Mr. Taft in his speech to the Panamanians was earnest. He was imbued
with the spirit of conquest as represented in our Panama Canal
enterprise. It was to be a conquest of nature’s own forces in their most
formidable aspects and he expressed a determination to enforce, during
his term of administration, the laws necessary to make that conquest
possible, and capping all his promises of fair treatment to the people
of Panama, he emphasised an insistence upon orderly government in the
little republic which brought forth round after round of applause.
He was destined to have almost endless difficulties of various sorts in
the Canal Zone, but he had the great privilege of occupying an
administrative office, first as Secretary of War and then as President,
until the end of the work was in sight and all the problems had been
fully solved. During those eight years, wherever he might be or whatever
business happened to be temporarily paramount, Canal questions were with
him always and were always given first consideration.
[Illustration:
MR. TAFT AND COLONEL GOETHALS, IN PANAMA
]
The history of the Panama Canal is divided into two great periods. The
first covers the full discussion and final settlement of the question as
to which route should be adopted, the Nicaraguan or the Panama; the
negotiation of the Hay-Herran Treaty with Colombia, by which we were
given the right to complete the Panama Canal, and under which we secured
all the rights of the French Panama Canal Company; the rejection of the
Hay-Herran Treaty with Colombia; the revolution of Panama; the
establishment of the Panamanian Republic and its recognition by
President Roosevelt, the negotiation of the Hay-Varilla Treaty with
Panama, by which we acquired dominion over the Canal Zone, and the right
to build the Canal from the Republic of Panama, guaranteeing at the same
time the integrity of that Republic. During all this period Mr. Taft was
in the Philippines. In February, 1904, when he became Secretary of War,
the Hay-Varilla Treaty was pending in the Senate. In a few weeks
thereafter, it was consented to by the Senate, the Panama Commission was
appointed, and early that spring the second period of the construction
of the Canal began. The work was placed by the President under Mr. Taft
as Secretary of War. From that time until his retirement from the office
of President, March 4, 1913, the construction was constantly under his
supervision. Sometime this history must be written. The chief crises in
this work as he has recited them were the organisation of the force
under the Commission, the adjustment of the relations of Panama to the
work under the treaty, the change of engineers from Mr. Wallace to Mr.
Stevens, the consideration by an International Commission, with a
divided report, as to the proper type of the Canal, whether sea-level or
lock, the very close fight in Congress to sustain the Administration
view in favor of the lock type, the settlement of the issue whether the
Canal should be built by contract or by Government agency, the selection
of a successor to Mr. Stevens when he resigned, and the placing of the
work under Army engineers and the selection of Colonel Goethals as the
man to take the responsibility, the adjustment of critical labour
troubles, and the confirmation by a Commission of the security of the
foundation of the Gatun Dam. These were the points of critical
importance in Mr. Taft’s Administration. In deciding the questions which
came to him, it was necessary for him to visit the Canal seven times in
as many years, and I went with him on three of his visits. The contrast
between the Canal when we first visited it and were the guests of Mr.
Wallace, the first engineer, and as it was when we were the guests of
Colonel Goethals in 1912, when the Gatun Lake was more than half filled
and nothing but the slides in the Culebra Cut remained for excavation,
it is most interesting to look back upon. I was twice the guest of
Colonel and Mrs. Goethals, and the beautiful view of the Canal Valley
from the windows of their house in the town of Culebra, which has now
disappeared, will long remain in my mind.
It was not long after our return to Washington from the first trip to
Panama before arrangements were completed for the tour of the big
Congressional party which Mr. Taft “personally conducted” to the
Philippines and back, and which was destined to be slightly overshadowed
as a Congressional party by the personality of Miss Alice Roosevelt who,
under the chaperonage of Mr. Taft and Mrs. Newlands, made the trip just,
as Kipling sings, “for to be’old and for to see.”
Knowing that I should have an opportunity to go again to the Far East in
two years to be present at the inauguration of the first Philippine
Assembly, I decided to remain behind this time. I did not think I would
much enjoy this brief busy trip to the Orient with three children and
decided that a quiet summer in England would be better for us all. So I
took a cottage in Oxford for the summer and with my two younger children
and one of my Cincinnati friends and her two children made various trips
here and there and found myself most pleasantly entertained. It was an
exceedingly quiet summer, unbroken save by the somewhat lurid accounts
which we gathered from the British and European press of the progress of
the Congressional party with Mr. Taft and Miss Alice Roosevelt in the
East. One German paper went so far as to announce that Miss Roosevelt
was undoubtedly engaged to be married to her father’s War Secretary.
It was my intention to sail from Southampton and meet Mr. Taft in New
York on his arrival from the East. We had been inveighing all summer
against the British system of handling luggage and when we went to look
after our trunks in the Oxford station we were charmed to find that a
new method of labelling had been introduced and that our luggage would
travel down to London and across London to the station for Southampton
without any assistance from us. We pocketed our British substitutes for
American baggage checks with considerable satisfaction and started on
our way.
When we arrived in London I sent the boys over to the station from which
we were to leave for our steamer to make sure that our baggage had
really been delivered as promised. Unfortunately the boys got to the
station just as King Edward arrived, and they were so excited about
getting a glimpse of the monarch that they gave up trying to look after
baggage. We, having nothing else to do, drove to the station a full hour
before the steamer train was to leave, and had occasion to congratulate
ourselves for being so early. Our trunks were not in the station. My
friend jumped in a hansom and rushed to the station where we had come
in. I spent the time ransacking every corner and looking over piles of
all kinds of luggage and three-quarters of an hour passed before a
telephone message came to say the trunks were found and that they had
started across town.
But the train would leave in five minutes! I was frantic. Otherwise I
should never have played my last card and exposed myself to the jibes of
my family forever after. I rushed into the office of the station-master
determined to overawe him by revealing to him my official position.
“I am Mrs. William Howard Taft of Washington,” I cried. “I must get my
trunks on that boat train. They’ll be here in a few minutes. Can’t you
hold it for me!”
He looked at me blankly.
“My husband is the Secretary of War of the United States,” I went on
desperately.
“I am very sorry, Madam,” he began, then I made my last effort.
“You must have heard of him. He’s travelling now with Miss Alice
Roosevelt.”
At last I had produced the effect I desired. Immediately the station was
my castle. The station-master was my humble servant. He accompanied me
out, ordered the train held, and superintended a whole obsequious force
which hustled our baggage aboard as soon as it arrived. Since we made
the boat, which we would not otherwise have done, I was able to bear the
chaffing of my children and friends when they continued to refer to me
as _The_ Mrs. Taft whose husband was travelling with Miss Alice
Roosevelt.
Early in the autumn of 1906 the American Consul General at Havana began
cabling to the government at Washington that the Cuban republic under
President Palma was rapidly going to pieces. What was described as
“devastating and paralysing civil strife” was rampant, and a serious
insurrection was threatened.
The Constitution of the Cuban republic and the Cuban Treaty with the
United States contains a “self-acting” clause, known as the Platt
Amendment, which was introduced by the United States Congress, and which
provides for American intervention in Cuban affairs whenever such
intervention is deemed requisite to a continuance of peace and good
government in the island.
Sometime during the first week in September the situation became acute
and President Palma, fearing that it would become formidable and knowing
that he had no adequate force to protect life and property, urgently,
though secretly begged our government to send warships to his
assistance. On September 12 he despatched a cablegram imploring that an
American Army be landed in Havana at once to prevent a threatened
massacre of citizens; on September 13 he decided to resign the
Presidency and compel the United States to assume the responsibility of
government; on September 14 President Roosevelt called a conference at
Oyster Bay where it was decided that Mr. Taft should undertake the task
of Cuban pacification, peaceful if possible—and on September 20 Mr.
Taft, accompanied by Mr. Robert Bacon, Assistant Secretary of State, as
a fellow Peace Commissioner, landed at Havana. They didn’t lose much
time.
Then began what Mr. Taft always refers to as “those awful twenty days.”
The people were divided into various warring factions, the result,
largely, of political habits inherited from the old Spanish régime
wherein a new party arose on the slightest provocation, basing its
antagonism to the others on nothing finer nor more patriotic than
individual desire for political patronage.
President Palma still held the reins of government, but camped just
outside Havana were twenty thousand men under arms ready at any moment
to open hostilities. These insurgents, as well as the party in power,
had appealed to the United States for intervention, but neither faction
had any intention of accepting any form of compromise which did not
include all their demands.
For about a week the fiercest storm that Mr. Taft had ever encountered
raged about his head. His one immediate desire was to avoid bloodshed.
His investigations proved that no real obstacle to tranquillity, or to
compromise, existed and he made every effort to induce the Cubans to
settle their differences on high non-partisan grounds, each yielding
something to the other for the sake of the general good. But he found
very little interest in the “general good.” Indeed, all through his
despatches during those days there runs a complaint that except with
President Palma and a few others patriotism was not very apparent, that
petty jealousies and personal ambitions, often of a brazen or a sordid
nature, constituted the chief secret of all the dissension and strife.
Events must have moved with feverish rapidity. The insurrectos demanded
the annulment of the election which continued the Palma government in
power, and the situation developed new complications with every argument
and piece of testimony presented by either side. Finally when it was
decided to begin an investigation of election returns with the hope of
arriving at a just conclusion, President Palma, who had certainly been
elected by irregular methods, though with no connivance on his own part,
promptly resigned; his Congress failed to meet and elect his successor.
To forestall a state of absolute anarchy, with the approval of President
Roosevelt, Mr. Taft issued a manifesto proclaiming an American
provisional government with himself as the provisional governor of the
republic. This happened on the eighth day after his arrival in Havana.
American marines had already been landed to guard the Treasury and a
large force of United States troops, under General Frederick Funston,
was in readiness to sail at once for Havana.
There was a strong sentiment among the better elements of Cubans, and an
almost unanimous expression on the part of foreign residents, in favour
of annexation to the United States. Indeed, feeling ran so high on this
point, and especially among those, of whatever nationality, with
financial interests at stake in Cuba, that it was thought for a time
that an effort would be made to stampede or force the United States
government into such action. But Mr. Taft’s Philippine experience proved
of value to him in this crisis, and his proclamation provided only for a
provisional government “to last long enough to restore order and peace
and public confidence.” The Cuban flag was not hauled down; no Cuban
official was to be disturbed in the discharge of his regular duties; and
the American flag was to fly over nothing but American troops. In other
words, the Cuban Republic was not to cease for an instant to exist. It
was a curious situation.
Shortly after the provisional government was instituted, Mr. Magoon was
appointed to relieve Mr. Taft in the office of governor, and was
instructed to proceed at once to Havana. Mr. Taft cabled me and Mr.
Bacon cabled to Mrs. Bacon, asking if we did not want to accompany Mr.
Magoon, and, of course, we immediately decided to do so. We sailed on
the _Mascotte_ with the battleship _Texas_ in our wake, carrying three
hundred marines from Norfolk, and for the first time in my life I felt
as if I were actually “going to war.” There was such a sense of rush
throughout the whole performance that it seemed tremendously serious. As
a matter of fact, intervention was accomplished without the firing of a
single gun, and when we landed at Havana, on the afternoon of the 10th
of October, just twenty days after Mr. Taft’s arrival on the scene, the
principal enterprise in progress was the disarmament of insurgent troops
which was by that time almost completed.
When we landed in Cuba I found myself once again, although only for the
moment “the first lady of the land,” and we were received with much
ceremony. It reminded me of Manila days.
As we passed the Cabañas fortress at the entrance of Havana harbour the
_Texas_ fired a salute and the echo of the answering guns cracked and
rattled from piers and surrounding sea-walls. Everything in the harbour
dipped its flag as we came in, while from out of the maze of battleships
and cruisers, transports, merchant vessels and shore boats we saw a
launch approaching in the bow of which I could easily make out my
husband’s generous proportions. With him were his colleague, Mr. Bacon,
his aide, Captain McCoy, and a second aide, Captain José Marti, an
artilleryman and son of an old Cuban patriot whom he had appointed to
this position, to the intense gratification of the Cuban people.
A second launch followed, bearing General Funston and his aide, Captain
Cloman, while a third full of Cuban newspaper men brought up the rear.
These newspaper men were the most engaging reporters I ever encountered.
They didn’t approach Mrs. Bacon and me with pads and pencils and a few
ill-considered questions. No, indeed. They came bearing flowers, great,
gorgeous bouquets for each of us, and we were permitted to receive these
without having to say anything more compromising than: “It was a very
pleasant voyage, thank you,” and, “Yes, indeed, we are very glad to get
to Havana.”
When we reached the wharf of the Captain of the Port we found a large
gathering of American naval officers and Cuban citizens, and we were
formally welcomed by Señor Julio de Cardenas, the Mayor of Havana, who
was continuing to exercise his official authority exactly as if nothing
unusual had occurred. He was accompanied by the members of the City
Council and with them later escorted us to the Palace.
As Mrs. Bacon and I stepped into our carriage the commander of the rebel
army and his wife came up to welcome us with what the paper that evening
described as “a floral offering,” but we saw nothing of the deposed
President or his followers. Upon his resignation he had gone down into
the country, where he was said to have been received with marked
enthusiasm and sympathy. Nobody ever accused President Palma of being
anything but an honest man and a sincere patriot, the victim of
political chicanery on the part of his supporters. It was afterward
shown that he could easily have been re-elected without trickery, but
dishonest politics were the only kind of politics that his people had
yet learned how to play.
When we arrived at the Palace, Mr. Taft, Mr. Bacon and Mr. Magoon went
into a long conference in the governor’s office, while I wandered around
the imposing building. It was about as cheerful as a mortuary chapel. It
seemed to be admirably adapted for the display of gold lace, gorgeous
decorations and lofty martial manners. After a brief inspection I sought
the spacious discomfort of my own room and an hour’s repose under a
betasseled canopy.
Mr. Magoon was not to assume the office of governor until disarmament
was completed and an amnesty proclamation had been issued. Mr. Taft
intended to leave him with no insurgents except those who refused to
give up their arms, and these were no longer to be known as insurgents.
They were to be called bandits and were to be hunted down and treated as
such.
I was mistress of the Palace at Havana for just three overcrowded days.
Before our arrival Mr. Taft and Mr. Bacon had been the guests of the
American Minister, Mr. E. V. Morgan, at his beautiful home about nine
miles outside the city. This house stood between two insurgent camps and
the mediators had to pass by automobile through rebel lines every
morning and evening while the uncertain negotiations were in progress,
but the strange part of this intervention was that it was welcomed by
all the parties concerned except the intervening party, so the mediators
were shown every courtesy.
Mr. Taft did not take possession of the Palace immediately after the
President’s abdication, but when Mr. Magoon was arriving he thought it
wise to do so in order that he might induct him into the office and all
its dignities with due form, and so it happened that we found him living
there.
On the afternoon after our arrival Mrs. Bacon and I gave a reception
which I remember as a most notable affair. It was attended by hundreds
of Cubans, by all the members of the different foreign colonies and by
every American Army and Navy officer who was not at the moment on active
duty. Everybody seemed to be especially happy and festive after the
month of gloom, and the pretty white gowns, the gay Cuban colours and
the crisp smartness of American uniforms mingled together in the great
rooms with quite brilliant effect. While we stood shaking hands with the
throng passing by in single file, the Municipal Band in the Park before
the Palace played American music, from the latest ragtime back to
“Swanee River,” interspersed with well-rendered classics and a few gay,
lilting airs peculiarly Spanish.
On the following afternoon Mr. Morgan tried to outdo the affair at the
Palace with a reception in our honour at his house, and succeeded
admirably. Mr. Taft had written of Mr. Morgan: “He is something of a
sybarite. He has a very fine house, a French cook and all the luxuries,
and we are being exceedingly well taken care of;—though I do think we
eat too much!” In fact, Mr. Morgan is a true host, combining imagination
and great ability with the wish to entertain. His house at Havana was
like a scene from some tropical grand opera. Standing in the midst of
fine gardens heavy with groups of big drooping palms and ferns, and
bright with wide spaces of green lawn, it seemed like a veritable
story-book house. It had wide corridors and a quaint, moss-softened
patio, in the middle of which a fountain played over a mass of brilliant
tropic plants. The spacious rooms were filled with curios and art
treasures from all parts of the world, and I was especially interested
in a splendid collection of brass-bound and inlaid Korean chests. Mr.
Morgan was America’s last Minister to Korea, being transferred from
Seoul to Havana when Japan established her Korean protectorate.
Although it was nine miles out to Mr. Morgan’s house, everybody came,
and it was said to be the most representative gathering of the city’s
leading families that had been seen in many a day. Of course there was
music and dancing and refreshments and all the elements which go to make
up an enjoyable entertainment, and even though there was a general
celebration going on in the city, the crowds took their departure
reluctantly.
The general celebration was in commemoration of the anniversary of the
outbreak of the Ten Years’ War in 1858, and it was strange to see all
parties uniting in a demonstration of what seemed to be real patriotism.
Havana was decorated in regular old-fashioned Fourth of July style, and
there were parades and speeches, bands, banners and fireworks, just as
if Cuba were the solidest little Republic in the world. One really
couldn’t take the situation very seriously after all,—except that it was
costing the country a great deal of money and certainly would have cost
many foolish lives had it not been taken in hand so promptly.
The next morning we inaugurated Governor Magoon and took our departure,
leaving him to his uncomfortable fate. I remember later a cartoon
depicting him as sitting in agony on a sizzling stove labelled “Cuba,”
while Mr. Taft appeared in the distance in a fireman’s garb carrying a
long and helpful-looking line of hose. But that illustrated subsequent
history.
We sailed from Havana on the battleship _Louisiana_, escorted by the
_Virginia_ and the _North Carolina_, Mr. and Mrs. Bacon, General
Funston, Mr. Taft and I, on the 13th of October, just twenty-nine days
from the day on which Mr. Roosevelt had called the momentous conference
at Oyster Bay to decide what should be done about Cuba, and we escaped
by only a few hours the terrible storm which swept east from the Gulf of
Mexico that same evening. It was one of the worst storms the locality
had ever known. It did untold damage to property, killed a number of
people and by cutting the island off from outside communication gave the
United States a short period of acute uneasiness on account of the
thousands of American soldiers quartered in Cuba and the big fleet of
American battleships lying in Havana harbour. The waters of Hampton
Roads were so rough that after boarding the _Dolphin_ for the trip up
the Chesapeake and the Potomac to Washington we went ashore at Fort
Monroe and took the train.