Never an Empire

Never an Empire

James Green

As the nineteenth century draws to a close America is at war – a circulation war! In New York the two great leaders of the Yellow Press, William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer, have gone head to head and nothing sells papers like a real war. Such is the power of the press that they get one. American victory over Spain brings its prizes: Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines.

Meanwhile, in the Philippines a rebel army is already fighting for independence, but the Land of the Free doesn't want to grant them their wish…

In July 1790 the US Congress established the Contingent Fund of Foreign Intercourse in response to a request from President George Washington for funds to finance Intelligence operations. The Fund was granted $40,000 dollars which, within three years had grown to $1 million, more than ten per cent of the Federal Budget. Successive Administrations developed and expanded this Fund until, in 1947, President Harry Truman signed into law the National Security Act and the CIA was born.

With a reported one third of the currency in circulation being counterfeit at the time, the United States Secret Service was created by President Abraham Lincoln on April 14 1865, the day of his assassination and five days after General Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox. The Service was commissioned on July 5 1865, in Washington D.C. as the ‘Secret Service Division' of the Department of the Treasury with the mission of suppressing counterfeiting. The legislation creating the agency was on Abraham Lincoln's desk the night he was assassinated.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Postscript

And then …

James Green

Other Accent Press Titles

Chapter One

Hotel Inglaterra, Havana, Cuba

The Suite of US Senator Thomas C. Platt

November 1897

‘Senator, do you know how much damn money we're losing?'

Thomas Collier Platt, Republican senator for New York, reached forward slowly, picked up his glass, and swirled the ice. It was long and cold, made from rum and fruit juice. He took a sip, slowly put the glass down, then smiled at the man sitting opposite.

‘No, as a matter of fact I have no idea how much money you're losing. Why don't you tell me?'

The senator's companion was large, with a florid face, plentiful, wavy, white hair, and a flowing moustache stained by tobacco. His clothes were expensive, ostentatiously so, worn as a uniform declaring to all and sundry his great wealth. In fact he was just the sort of man a cartoonist in one of New York's anarchist-friendly magazines would have used as a model to represent Capital oppressing Labour. At the moment he was trying to be both patient and polite, but as neither virtue came naturally to him and both were but rarely deployed, the strain was showing.

‘Two years ago US shipping to and from Cuba was worth one hundred million US dollars each year. One hundred million dollars, sir. Now it's just one-third of that and it's all down to this damn revolution.'

‘Dear me, so much money lost? I had no idea. It must be hurting quite a lot of people.'

The man gave an exasperated snort. He wasn't used to being treated so dismissively, but he managed to control his rising temper. He needed Senator Platt, needed him quite badly.

‘It's hurting
me
, never mind lots of people.' He paused and readied himself. ‘Senator, I donated heavily to your last campaign and now I want to see some return on that investment. I want to know what you're going to do about this damned mess.'

Senator Platt leaned forward, picked up his drink again, and gazed at it.

He didn't like this man but he was well-connected, wealthy and therefore powerful, though not apparently so rich as he had been. More importantly he represented a significant business lobby and had, as he said, donated heavily. Nevertheless, the senator wasn't about to let himself be hurried, bullied, or threatened. He had his political position to consider. This Cuban revolution was proving confoundedly awkward, providing no clear-cut position of political safety because of the many conflicting points of interest. Whatever stance he took it would bring him powerful friends but equally powerful enemies. That was why he had come to Cuba, to assess the situation for himself. The feeling in Washington was that things were coming to a head and the US would soon have to commit to some definite course of action. For Washington the time for action had not yet arrived, but for Senator Platt the time to make a decision had come. He needed to be a key element in deciding policy in this matter, not one of those who reacted to it. All of which meant he had to know for certain where his support would prove most advantageous to him, back the revolutionaries with money and weapons and help them create an independent Cuba, or use Spanish atrocities as an excuse for America to intervene and go to war with Spain? Support of the revolutionaries would give the US an ally on their doorstep, maybe even pave the way for bringing an independent Cuba into the Union as a state. A conflict with Spain, however, would not only drop Cuba into America's lap but also the Spanish possessions of Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines, all of which could be governed as controlled territories once the war was won. As controlled territories they would be so much easier to exploit than one more US state. He looked at his companion who was trying, with obvious difficulty, to wait patiently for an answer.

This rather odious man was a part of the equation, albeit a losing part at the moment, but Senator Platt decided that he would put up with him a little longer and hear out what he had to say. First, however, he would have to squash him a little, make clear to him the realities of their relationship, so when he finally spoke it was with a nice blend of surprise and condescension, and slowly, as if he were trying to explain something complicated to a not very bright child.

‘But surely you understand that political donations are not payments for future services? That would be not only irregular but illegal. Any donation, large or small, should be seen as an expression of support, support for a particular political vision, in this case the Republican vision,' and before the man could reply Platt went on, ‘and you know, it isn't just shipping that's suffering, sugar is suffering as well.'

The man gave a snort. His patience snapped.

‘Then damn sugar to hell. I'm not in sugar. I'm in shipping.'

‘But many Americans
are
in sugar. Cuba is the world's largest producer and America probably its biggest market. If America can't get all the sugar it wants then all Americans suffer, suffer badly. I have to weigh that, weigh it very carefully.'

‘Well by God, man, can't you see that merely backs up my argument? If we take Cuba we can get all the sugar we want.'

‘We?'

‘The US government.'

Platt put down his drink again and assumed a slightly severe expression.

‘Hmm. I'm not sure I understand your meaning. Are you suggesting we, the US government, invade Cuba?'

But the man was well past noticing expressions.

‘Yes, dammit, that's exactly what I'm suggesting and so are plenty of others; Theodore Roosevelt for one.'

Senator Platt shook his head slowly.

‘Roosevelt? A hot-head, I'm afraid, unpredictable, and in my opinion not a one who should hold any office of importance.'

The senator's companion took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. He was beginning to sweat rather profusely.

‘Then maybe I should say to hell with your opinion.'

The senator picked up his glass, took another slow drink and another look at his companion who was again wiping his face and beginning to resemble a punctured balloon. Wicked Capital made to look ridiculous by Virtuous Labour. The senator felt the man had been squashed enough and was prepared to relent.

‘Excellent drink this, so refreshing in this heat, don't you think?'

‘God damn your drink. You boss the Republican Party. New York and I want to know if you're going to support the US taking Cuba, and don't tell me it isn't good politics because there's plenty who'll tell you it's damn fine politics.'

‘Ah, you mean assistant secretary to the Navy Theodore Roosevelt says so?'

‘No. The
New York Journal
says so.'

And here the senator found himself reluctantly forced to concede that this rather pompous, blustering man had finally made a very sound point. William Randolph Hearst had put the considerable power of his newspapers behind US intervention in Cuba and Hearst, through the
Journal
, was one of the few men in New York who could do the senator real harm, or provide him with real help. He couldn't dismiss Hearst as easily as he might his present companion.

‘I am here to make my own assessment. That I have come in person shows that I have an open mind on US policy in this matter. I don't say Hearst is right or wrong, what I do say is that this is a complex issue and the rather strident tones of the likes of Theodore Roosevelt do not help. Bullying and bluster are all very well on a public platform, especially if all you want is the rabble to raise a cheer for you. But they are no substitute for the truth, formed from hard facts, and in New York facts of any sort about Cuba are in precious short supply. That is why I came to find out for myself, to find what the true position is. To that end I have listened to many people, politicians, military, business people like yourself, men who are intimately involved in the situation. Tomorrow I return to New York where I will consider what recommendations I may make and what course of action will have my support.' The senator stood up. It was a good line on which to end this interview. He struck a senatorial pose and held out his hand. ‘I am pleased, very pleased indeed, to have had this meeting. It has proved both useful and enlightening.' The financier rose and shook the offered hand. ‘If you will supply me with accurate details of the reduction of shipping and its concomitant costs to yourself and others that will be a great help, a great help indeed.'

And, strange as it may seem, this wealthy and powerful man, this captain of industry, seemed not only satisfied with this crumb, but positively pleased. And there, in a nutshell, you had the true greatness of Senator Thomas ‘Boss' Platt: that he paid so little and got so much.

‘You will have all the necessary figures as soon as you get back to New York.'

‘Thank you, and you have my assurance that they will be put to good use.'

The financier almost beamed, took Platt's hand and pumped it.

‘Thank you, Senator, thank you.'

Once the financier had left Senator Platt walked to the window and looked out at the morning sunshine. He liked the Hotel Inglaterra. It was the oldest and the best in Havana, a white, three-storey building in the classical style with a colonnaded front over the pavement which gave the ground-floor rooms a pleasant shade from the fierce sun as well as providing a place to stroll or loiter while smoking an excellent local cigar and watching Havana go about its business.

The senator moved back into the room. He wanted to walk and think but the shaded pavement would be too busy and too hot, so he chose to stay in his suite to do his walking and thinking. Not that he was overly limited in the space available to him. The suite he had taken for the duration of his visit was the hotel's most spacious and expensive, for Thomas Collier Platt was a man who had never stinted himself, not in his own personal comfort nor in his political ambition. His aim, however, was never that he should become a dynamic influence on the floor of the senate. Oratory he left to others. His goal had always been to become a sort of godfather to the Republican Party in New York, the man who made the careers of others. And it was an ambition in which he had manifestly succeeded. More than a few of the Republican politicians now seen as the rising stars of the party owed their current position to him. His was a voice that mattered and would be listened to. But this business of Cuba could split the party, had already split the party and indeed the country. President McKinley was for persuasion and a negotiated settlement between the revolutionaries and the Spanish. But that was not so much McKinley's own committed position as that of his closest advisor, Mark Hanna, but as things stood at present in the White House what Hanna thought today the president would announce as policy tomorrow. But Hanna's approach couldn't last. It was increasingly a losing position with the public especially as the public now looked as much to newspapers as to politicians to set the national agenda. No, Senator Platt was sure that the time for a negotiated settlement had passed. The question was, when the US guns began to fire, as they surely must, would it be beside the Cuban Revolutionaries or in place of them?