CENSORSHIP CONCLUDED
My own sleep on that night was limited to about two hours snatched
between work, and the following morning was a very busy one. About once
every hour I would report to the White House how things were progressing
at the port. As the big transports received their load of living
freight, one by one they would pull out in the stream and anchor,
waiting until the time should come when all would be ready, and then
like a big swarm they would pull out together. They did not sail at
daylight; unexpected delays occurred, and eight, nine, ten, eleven and
twelve o'clock passed and still they had not sailed, although the twelve
o'clock report said they would be gone by twelve-thirty.
At one o'clock a messenger came hurriedly to me and said the White House
wanted me at the key at once. When I answered, Colonel Montgomery said,
"_The President wants to know if you can stop that fleet?_" Now the wire
to Port Tampa was on a table right back of me and calling him with my
left hand I said:
"Can you get General Miles or General Shafter?" and with my right hand I
said to the President, "I'll try, wait a minute."
Then said the White House, "_It is imperative that the fleet be stopped
at once._"
From Port Tampa, "No sir, I can't find General Miles or General
Shafter."
I replied, "Have all the transports pulled out of the slip?"
"Yes sir, so far as I can see they are all gone."
From Washington, "Have you stopped the fleet?"
"Wait a minute--will let you know later, am trying now."
To Port Tampa, "Go out and find a tug and get this message to either
General Miles or General Shafter, 'The President directs that you stop
the sailing of Shafter's army until further orders.' Now fly."
Just then Port Tampa said, "Here comes General Miles now," and in a
minute more the message was delivered and the fleet stopped. I then
reported to the President:
"I have delivered your message to General Miles and the fleet will not
sail until further orders."
They came back wondering what had stopped them and that evening we
learned of the appearance of the "Phantom" Spanish fleet in the Nicholas
Channel _heading westward_. "Cervera wasn't bottled up in Santiago,"
said some, "and before morning he will be here and blow us out of the
water." Great was the consternation and as a precaution all the ships
were ordered back into the slip. It must be said, however, that General
Miles _never had any idea that the Spanish fleet was approaching our
shores_.
The transport fleet was tied up and then followed six days of weary
waiting, and the duties of the censor became more arduous than ever, and
the utmost vigilance was exercised. Private messages were almost all
hung up, in fact, very little else than government business was allowed
to pass over the wires. And yet, every day for a week, copies of the
daily papers that reached me had, under flaming headlines, the startling
news that Shafter's fleet had sailed--destination--Havana, San Juan,
Matanzas,--yes--even the Spanish coast. All this was announced from
Washington, and made the correspondents snort; they made every excuse to
let their papers know they were still there. They wanted money, they
wanted to send messages to their families, in fact, they wanted
everything under the sun, but to no avail. Finally, on the 14th of June
the army sailed away, filled with hope and courage, on their mission
that resulted in victory for the American arms; but that was a foregone
conclusion, while we less fortunate ones were left behind to pray for
the success that we knew would be theirs.
The correspondents were all on the transport "Olivette," and just before
they pulled out I sent them a message saying I would release the news
that night about the _sailing of the fleet only_, and they might file
their messages. They did in large numbers and here is where the joke
came in. When the messages reached the papers they thought it was all a
bluff to mislead the public, and many of them refused to publish the
news, but the fleet had gone this time for certain. As late as two days
afterwards I received messages from the managing editors of two of the
greatest papers in the country, asking me if the fleet had really
sailed. I assured them it had. One thing is certain, the destination of
that fleet was a well-kept secret. Mr. Richard Harding Davis in his
admirable book on the Cuban and Porto Rican Campaigns, says that credit
is due the censor because it was so well kept. I am afraid that this is
about the only good word the censor ever received from the said Mr.
Davis.
The "Olivette," on which the correspondents sailed, was the last boat to
leave Port Tampa. She left about six-thirty P. M. in the glory of the
setting sun of a tropical evening. About five-thirty P. M. Mr. Edward
Marshall, that prince of good fellows, who represented the New York
Journal, came into my office to write a message for his paper, to be
left with me and sent when the story was released. Marshall was a
typical newspaper man and a thorough American, and had just returned
from New York where he had been in attendance upon the sick-bed of his
wife. He was very anxious to get his story written before he sailed. I
knew the "Olivette" was about to pull out, and if he expected to go on
her it was high time he was moving. As Port Tampa was nine miles away, I
told him to fly and cut his story short or send it from Port Tampa. He
thanked me and reached Port Tampa just in time to save being left. It
was this same Edward Marshall who so daringly pushed to the front during
the Guasimas fight of the Rough Riders, and was seriously wounded by a
Mauser bullet near his spine. He was supposed to be dying, but true to
his newspaper training and full of loyalty to his paper, he dictated a
message to his journal between the puffs of a cigarette, when it was
supposed each breath would be his last. But thank God he did not die,
and now gives promise of many years of useful life. I have often thought
if I had not warned him in time to go he would not have been shot; but
then all war is uncertain, and in warning him I was only, "Doing unto
others as I would be done by."
During all these stirring times just described there were two women
correspondents, poor souls, who were indeed sad and lonely. They were
very ambitious and wanted to go to Cuba with the army, but the War
Department wisely forbade any such a move and then my trouble began. At
all hours of the day or night I was pestered by these same women. One of
them represented a Canadian paper and was most anxious to go. She tried
every expedient and tackled every man or woman of influence that came
along. Even dear old Clara Barton did not escape her importunities. She
wanted to go as a Red Cross nurse, but didn't know anything about
nursing. However, I reckon she was as good as some of the women who did
go. She was an Irish girl with rich red hair, and as mine was of an
auburn tinge we didn't get along worth a cent. She didn't do much
telegraphing but sent all of her stuff by mail. However, it was her
intention to send _one telegram_ to her paper and "scoop" all the other
chaps in so doing. She wrote a letter to her managing editor in Toronto
and told him there was a censor down there who thought he could bottle
up Florida as regards news, but she intended to outwit him. Particular
attention was being paid so as to preserve the secrecy of the sailing
day of Shafter's army. Cipher and code messages bearing on this
occurrence were to be strictly interdicted. But that didn't make any
difference to her; she could beat that game. So on the day the fleet
actually sailed she would send a message to her paper saying, "_Send me
six more jubilee books._" This would indicate that the fleet had really
gone. Brilliant scheme from the brain of a very bright woman, but she
lost sight of the fact that Messrs. Carranza and Polo y Bernabe were at
that time in Canada spying on the United States, and that all the
Canadian mail was most carefully watched. Such, however, was the case,
and in a short time the contents of her letter were known to General
Greely, and by him communicated to me. One evening Miss Correspondent
was standing in the lobby of the Tampa Bay hotel surrounded by a group
of her friends, when I approached and said:
"Excuse me, Miss J--, but I should like to speak to you for a moment."
"Well, what is it, pray? Surely you haven't anything to say but what my
friends can hear, have you?" Sassy, wasn't she?
"Oh! well if that is the case?" I replied, "I am sorry to inform you
that you are suspended from correspondent's privileges and from the use
of the telegraph until further orders."
"And what for pray?"
"I don't just exactly know," I answered, "but I think it has something
to do with sending you 'six more jubilee books' from Canada."
Well! she turned all the colors of the rainbow, and snapped out,
"Goodness gracious! how did you--where did you hear that?"
I smiled politely and walked away. The next morning, shortly after I
reached my office, a timid knock was heard at the door.
"Come in," I yelled, thinking it was a messenger boy. In walked Miss
J----, woebegone, crestfallen and disheartened, with a letter of apology
and explanation. I forwarded this to General Greely and kept her
suspended for seven days. She never offended again, and the last I
heard of her she was in Key West gazing with longing eyes towards the
Pearl of the Antilles. She never reached there.
The other woman correspondent was different. She was an American widow,
bright, dashing and vivacious. She had heard of the ogre of a censor;
she would conquer him through his susceptibility. I'll admit that the
censor in question was susceptible of some things--but not in business
matters. One day she filed an innocent little telegram to her paper,
saying, "For ice cream read typhoid." The operator glanced at it and
said, "You'll have to get Captain B----'s O. K. on that message before I
can send it."
She talked sweetly to him, but that didn't happen to be one of his
"susceptible" days. Then she came to me, and as my "susceptibility" had
run to a pretty low ebb I refused to permit the message to go on, on
account of its hidden meaning.
"Oh, pshaw! Captain, I wrote a story for my paper and in it described
the death of a man from the effects of eating too much ice cream, and
now I learn that he died of typhoid fever."
I was pretty hard-headed that morning and couldn't assist the lady and
she left the office vowing vengeance. The next edition of her paper
contained the most charmingly sarcastic article about the red-headed,
white-shoed censor I have ever seen, but I had become case-hardened by
this time and did not mind it in the least.
It might be supposed that as soon as the army had sailed and the
correspondents had gone, that the censorship duties would be lighter.
They were, officially, but otherwise they became harder than ever. The
army had gone, but the women had been left behind. The husbands were
away--fighting--dying--while the wives were waiting with dry eyes and
aching hearts for the news that would mean life or death to them. There
were some forty wives, daughters, and sweethearts remaining in the Tampa
Bay hotel, and to them the censor became a most interesting party. They
knew that any news that came to Tampa would come through him, and they
wanted it whether his orders would allow him to divulge it or not.
Before, I had to contend with the importunities of zealous
correspondents, now it was the longing eyes of sweet women whose hearts
were breaking with suspense, whose lives had stood still since the 14th
day of June when the fleet sailed away. Of the two, I would rather
contend with the former.
The long and trying days dragged slowly by and still no news. Finally,
on the 22nd of June, it was known that the army was landing; June 24th,
the Guasimas fight of the cavalry division took place, and from that
time on life was made miserable for me by importunate women. Many
telegrams--yes, hundreds of them--came to me every day, and each time
one of those cursed little yellow envelopes was put in my hands, if I
happened to be in the lobby of the hotel, I could feel forty or fifty
pairs of anxious eyes concentrated on me, as if to read from the
expression of my face whether the news was good or bad. Colonel Michler
of General Miles's staff was there, and if we should happen to be
together talking, the women would surmise that the news was bad; and
many times their surmises were just about right. One sweet little
black-eyed woman always said she could tell from my face whether I was
bluffing or not. July 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, were very gloomy days for we
poor chaps who had been left behind--and for the women. We--they--knew
the fight was on, that men were heroically dying, and _we_ also knew
that the army was in a hard way. Strive as we might, no gleam of hope
could be culled from the news of those three days. Cervera's fleet was
still in the harbor of Santiago, and the army not only had the Spanish
troops to fight but the navy as well. Flesh and blood might stand the
rain of Mauser bullets, but they could not stand rapid-fire guns and
eight-inch shells. The third of July dragged by, and at eleven o'clock
Colonel Michler retired for the night not feeling in a very pleasant
frame of mind. The lobby was well nigh deserted, but Colonels Smith and
Powell and a few more officers sat by one of the big open doors having a
farewell smoke and chat before going to bed. At eleven-thirty I was
standing by the desk talking to the clerk, when the night operator came
charging out of the office and gave me a little piece of yellow paper. I
quickly opened it and read, "Sampson entirely destroyed Cervera's fleet
this morning." News like that, if true, was too good to keep, so I went
into the telegraph office and had a wire cut through to the New York
office and asked for a confirmation or denial of the report. They
confirmed it and gave me the text of the official report. I bounded out
in the hall and shouted out the glorious news at the top of my voice.
Gloom was dispelled instanter, and joy reigned supreme. At just twelve
o'clock midnight, we drank a toast to the army and navy, and to our
country.
Santiago surrendered and the army went to Porto Rico only to be stopped
in the midst of a most brilliant campaign by the signing of the
protocol. The censorship was ended and willingly did I lay down the blue
pencil and take up my sword.