The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst (68 page)

BOOK: The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst
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McKinley believed his strategy was working. Weyler, the reviled Cuban governor, had been recalled by Spain and replaced with General Ramón Blanco, a moderate who promised to temper the reconcentration program. Better still, Spain had granted a limited form of autonomy or self-government to Cuba. A hastily constituted Havana-based assembly took office January 1, 1898. It comprised hand-picked Cuban and Spanish representatives and was charged with a range of domestic administrative functions. Washington hailed these developments as major concessions from Madrid, and weeks earlier McKinley had proclaimed his faith in Spain’s reforms in his annual address to Congress. He praised Sagasta as a conciliator and declared that Spain was sincere and “irrevocably committed” to its new path. In a crucial passage of his speech, McKinley admitted to having given his “most anxious and earnest consideration” to intervening in Cuba on humanitarian grounds but said his confidence in Sagasta’s reforms restrained him. In the event that the new policies failed to bring a righteous peace to Cuba, the United States would answer its obligation to “intervene with force,” in full knowledge that it would command the support and approval of the civilized world.
 
Deliberation is not a bad thing in a chief executive, and McKinley was right to give diplomacy every chance of success, but by this point, the odds on a negotiated settlement to the Cuban crisis were negligible. The rebels for three years had been firmly rejecting any solution short of outright independence, while Spain, even with Sagasta in office, was steadfastly refusing to put Cuban independence on the table, and both sides continued to fight in the countryside with what the historian John Lawrence Tone calls “apocalyptic determination.”
2
 
Hearst and the other pro-Cuban editors dismissed Sagasta’s concessions as insufficient and insincere. The rebels and Cuba’s hard-core Spanish loyalists were unrepresented in the new Havana assembly and both groups stood in the way of lasting peace. Madrid retained control of the judiciary, law enforcement, spending, and taxation policy in Cuba, and it could end the reform experiment at its discretion. The
Journal
, noting that Spain had not abandoned its larger strategy of killing insurgents accused Sagasta of pretending to grant reforms in order to buy time for a military victory. This sham of autonomy, it maintained, led nowhere: “After our forefathers had declared their independence, George III was willing to make almost any concessions for the sake of a restored empire. The Americans repulsed his advances, although their grievances were as light as snowflakes compared with the crushing wrongs that Cuba has suffered at the hands of Spain. The Cubans would be fools if they trusted Spanish promises, and we should be infamous if we tried to induce them to do it.”
3
 
Most of the conservative papers, eager for action under Cleveland’s Democrats, now applauded McKinley’s caution and his pursuit of a negotiated settlement with Spain. They accused Hearst and the pro-Cuban editors of warmongering for their insistence that Washington deliver an ultimatum to Spain, backed, if necessary, by force. Historians have tended to agree with the conservative papers, drawing a line in American opinion at this stage in the crisis between those striving for a negotiated peace and those eager for war, with Hearst usually presiding as jingo-in-chief. But Hearst ’s impatience with diplomacy was not motivated by martial ardor. He believed nothing short of a U.S. ultimatum would bring peace to Cuba, either by forcing Madrid to back down (which the
Journal
considered a real possibility) or by precipitating an armed intervention—the choice was Spain’s. His view was shared not only by a large contingent of editors, activists, and congressional leaders but also by the American diplomat who knew Spain best.
 
Hannis Taylor, lawyer, constitutional historian, biographer of Cicero, and the Cleveland administration’s last minister in Spain, had published in the November 1897 edition of the
North American Review
a comprehensive and insightful discussion of the Cuban crisis. Read closely in Washington and Madrid, his essay was far removed in tone from the yellow newspapers but consistent with them in its analysis and conclusions.
 
After four years in Madrid, Taylor believed the Spanish were impotent to resolve their Cuban problem. Unable to defeat the rebels militarily, they had lost control of the island yet they couldn’t conceive of giving it up. One of the few things Spain’s civil, clerical, military, and political elites could agree upon was that their sovereignty in Cuba was inviolable. As inheritors of an old-world monarchical society and owners of a paternalistic colonial system, the Spanish had no real conception of what words like “autonomy” and “independence” meant to Cubans or Americans. Madrid had steadfastly resisted substantive reforms during three decades of unrest in Cuba. Concessions were occasionally announced to divert public opinion in the United States and Europe, but they were never substantially implemented—the fighting had resumed in 1895 in large part because Madrid had failed to deliver on promised reforms. There was an economic dimension to Spain’s recalcitrance: financially dependent on its colonies, it could not afford but to bleed them. Washington’s offers of friendly and respectful mediation were fine, but they had been extended before; they were always politely received and quickly forgotten. Relations between Spain and the United States were now so strained, and opinion in both countries was so inflamed, as to amount to a state of “semi-war.”
4
 
The United States, wrote Taylor, was down to two options. It could recognize the horrifying human cost of the Cuban rebellion and discharge its duty to humanity by confronting Spain, citing the Monroe Doctrine as well as “ancient rights of intervention” recognized by international law. Alternatively, it could dispense with moral dignity, frankly declare itself “incapable of protecting its own interests and of guarding the peace of the new world,” and take a seat on the sidelines. Taylor favored confrontation. He believed that an ultimatum, sanctioned by the executive and legislative branches in Washington and backed by threat of force, might bring Spain to its senses.
 
Taylor was no jingo: he was a seasoned diplomat who had played a leading role in a Cleveland administration notable for its stubborn neutrality. That he drew a harder line on Cuba than anyone in McKinley’s immediate circle is largely a result of his long experience of Spain and the Cuban crisis. McKinley had come to office in early 1897 with limited experience of international relations, no first-hand knowledge of Spain, and without having said a word about Cuba during his campaign or in his inaugural address. He had chosen as his secretary of state the septuagenarian John Sherman—who was almost completely deaf and racing toward senility—in part to make Sherman’s Senate seat available to Mark Hanna. Sherman’s assistant secretary, William R. Day, had all his marbles but he too was a novice on the international stage, as was Minister Woodford.
5
Notwithstanding their admirable patience and caution in dealing with Spain, it is hard to escape the conclusion that McKinley and his team placed a naïve faith in the possibilities of continued dialogue with Madrid. Three stunning events in the first seven weeks of 1898 would vindicate the judgment of Taylor and the yellow newspapers, and plunge America into war.
 
 
 
ON JANUARY 12,
El Reconcentrado,
a moderate Spanish newspaper in Havana, published an article critical of the recently departed Weyler and one of his key subordinates. Spanish loyalists, including many army officers, supported Weyler’s harsh policies as the only means of holding the island. They took to the streets, razing
El Reconcentrado
’s offices and those of several other pro-autonomy journals as well. While the primary target of the rioters was the newspapers, Consul General Lee heard amid the cries of “Viva Weyler” and “Death to Autonomy” a scattering of anti-American slogans and rumors of a march on the consulate, where many American citizens had taken refuge.
6
He worried that the new Spanish governor, Blanco, had lost control of his army, and warned Washington that he might require naval support. Havana was calm again within forty-eight hours, but Lee nonetheless signaled his intention to request a battleship for Cuba just as soon as one might arrive without adding to local tensions.
 
Hearst is said to have exploited the riots to force the United States into a war with Spain. One influential account claims that the January 13 edition of his paper exaggerated the threat to Americans in Havana with careless reporting and the “screaming” full-page headline “Next to War with Spain.”
7
In fact, surviving editions of that day’s
Journal
make no mention of the riots—the news does not appear to have made deadline. The offending headline appeared in the
Evening Journal,
which appealed to a different audience than its morning sibling and was more excitable as a matter of policy. The January 14 edition of the morning paper features a matter-of-fact three-column headline, “Battle Ship Maine Awaiting Gen. Lee’s Direct Orders.” The news story describes the riots and the interruption of communications between Havana and Washington but clearly states that few shots were fired and that Blanco had regained control of Havana. A front-page cartoon depicts Uncle Sam sharpening his sword as a Spanish gunboat cruises between Cuba and Florida. The caption reads: “Uncle Sam Doesn’t Seek Trouble, But—.”An editorial advised that naval vessels be dispatched to Havana without delay to protect the lives and property of Americans in the event of further riots.
 
Hearst’s coverage was sufficiently aggressive to raise the ire of the
Tribune
and other pro-McKinley papers, all of which sought to minimize the clashes. The
Journal
answered that it was difficult to dismiss the riots as insignificant when the Havana cable office had been shut down, the guard doubled around the U.S. consulate, and Spanish artillery posted on the city’s principal streets. No American blood was spilled, it allowed, but “the patriot armies are still in the field, the material ruin of the island is progressing, the wretched comedy of autonomy has been hissed off the boards, and the grim tragedy of a nation’s starvation . . . holds all eyes.”
8
 
The riots in fact did undermine the credibility of the Sagasta government and confirm in the minds of many observers the hopelessness of Spain’s position. The Spanish minister in Washington, Don Enrique Dupuy de Lôme, noted an “abrupt” shift in American opinion at Madrid’s expense. Second Assistant Secretary of State Alvee A. Adee wrote to Assistant Secretary Day (who had assumed most of the duties of the dotty John Sherman) that the riots had killed the autonomy initiative—a sentiment Fitzhugh Lee voiced publicly. Congress erupted in another round of fierce debates on recognition of Cuban belligerence and independence, and it was widely believed in Washington that the president was preparing for a decisive intervention. The navy, having already cancelled scheduled leaves for enlisted men and moved the North Atlantic squadron to the Gulf of Mexico for battle exercises, warned its major commands of possible trouble in Cuba and began gathering intelligence on possible landing sites on the island.
9
The administration asked Lee for a fresh report on the fighting strength of the Spanish army. McKinley continued to counsel patience, but he knew full well he would be blamed for any American losses in Cuba. He sent a ship to Havana without waiting for Lee ’s final okay, and regardless of the effect it might have on local tensions.
10
 
The second-class battleship
Maine,
commanded by Captain Charles Dwight Sigsbee, had been stationed for several weeks at Key West. The 319-foot, 6,682-ton armored steel vessel was one of the most imposing things afloat, with towering masts fore and aft, two big smokestacks between, and four 10-inch guns in twin turrets. It carried 343 enlisted men in forward berths and 31 officers behind.
11
With its hull painted peacetime white, it steamed into Havana harbor thirteen days after the riots. Sigsbee moored within sight of the Spanish flagship
Alfonso XII
and assorted commercial and fishing craft. The
Maine
had a view “clear up the cobbled, portico-shaded streets, right into the white and pastel heart of the metropolis.”
12
 
Spain was not a happy host of the
Maine.
It had warned that it would consider the arrival of a U.S. warship in Cuba a hostile act. McKinley and his secretary of the navy, John D. Long, skirted this concern by announcing the
Maine
’s maneuver as the resumption of “friendly visits” to Cuban ports, as had been customary before the insurgency. Madrid gritted its teeth and joined the charade, dispatching the cruiser
Vizcaya
to New York in a “friendly” gesture of its own. But it also ramped up its munitions production, increased its naval capacities, and reproached Washington for answering Spain’s grant of autonomy with a baldly aggressive move. Newspapers in New York and Madrid reported a hardening of popular and political sentiment. Tensions were highest in Havana, where the
Maine
’s captain was handed circulars on the street calling for death to autonomy and “Death to the Americans.”
13
He cancelled shore leave for his sailors to avoid trouble. The
Evening Journal
’s headline, “Next to War with Spain,” hadn’t been far from the mark, after all.
 

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