The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst (69 page)

BOOK: The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst
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THE SECOND SHOCK TO SPANIS H-AMERICAN RELATIONS came within a month of the Havana riots. Don Enrique Dupuy de Lôme was a small, balding, dapper man with long waxed mustaches and five years’ experience as Spain’s minister to Washington. In late January he arrived at the annual White House dinner for foreign diplomats wearing a brace of medals on his gilded jacket and a handsome ceremonial sword. President McKinley sought him out, sat him down, and proudly noted that Republican forces in the Senate were holding the Capitol’s pro-Cuban elements at bay.
14
The minister was pleased at McKinley’s mood but under no illusions as to the real state of Spanish-American relations. He warned his colleagues to avoid any gestures or statements that might inflame Congress or public opinion in the United States, and then he himself sparked a conflagration.
 
Like everyone else concerned with Cuba, Dupuy de Lôme had paid close attention to President McKinley’s recent address to Congress. He briefed his home office on the speech and also relayed his private thoughts in correspondence to José Canalejas, the Spanish editor and Sagasta confidant who had recently passed through Washington en route to Cuba. Dupuy de Lôme’s letter was chatty, intelligent, cynical, amusing, and dangerously indiscreet. It was also intercepted.
 
Horatio Rubens, the New York-based Junta spokesman, claimed that a Cuban patriot with a friend in Canalejas’s Havana office had acquired the letter on behalf of their cause. It may, in fact, have been lifted in Washington, but in any event, the document found its way to the Junta
.
Rubens took it first to the
Herald
, probably on the assumption that publication in a pro-Spanish paper would do maximum damage to Dupuy de Lôme and Spain. He had made a translation of the letter and gathered other samples of the minister’s handwriting to demonstrate its authenticity. The
Herald,
however, said it would not accept the document unless Dupuy de Lôme admitted authorship. Rubens walked down the street to Hearst, who, on the morning of February 9, ran a transcript of the letter in Spanish on the front page along with an English translation.
 
To a popular audience, the most obviously offensive part of Dupuy de Lôme’s letter was his description of McKinley as a political pretender: “Besides the ingrained and inevitable bluntness with which is repeated all that the press and public opinion in Spain have said about Weyler, it once more shows what McKinley is, weak and a bidder for the admiration of the crowd, besides being a would-be politican who tries to leave a door open behind himself while keeping on good terms with the jingoes of his party.”
15
 
More consequential in the prevailing diplomatic environment was Dupuy de Lôme’s admission that the autonomy initiative was a ruse designed to relieve Spain of “a part of the responsibility for what is happening” on the island. The minister hoped the Cubans, whom the Americans “think so immaculate,” would by virtue of their participation in the governance of the island share blame for its sorry state. Spain would in the meantime continue to press for the military success without which, Dupuy de Lôme believed, nothing would be accomplished in Cuba. The minister allowed that Spain had been entertaining the idea of further reforms, particularly trade negotiations with the United States, primarily for purposes of “propaganda” and to buy time for further military actions. As an aside, Dupuy de Lôme rued the influence of the “newspaper rabble that swarms in [Havana] hotels,” and singled out the
New York Journal
’s correspondents for special abuse.
16
 
Hearst is accused by biographers and historians of making too much of a “comic diplomatic blunder” and of stoking tensions by publishing an inflammatory English translation of the letter, a charge that originated with the
Evening Post.
17
In fact, the same translation was also used by the
Tribune
and other conservative papers, and several days after its initial complaint, the
Evening Post
reversed itself and admitted that the
Journal
’s published version was “sufficiently correct.”
18
Hearst is also faulted for accepting a “stolen” document that had been rejected by the more scrupulous
Herald.
In fact, the
Herald
’s failure to take advantage of a hand-delivered scoop was probably due more to its pro-Spanish leanings than to its journalistic standards (the
Tribune
had no trouble printing the document). The
Journal
took some risk, but not a reckless amount, in running the letter without absolute proof of its authenticity. It was, in fact, the genuine article, and its significance is difficult to overstate.
 
More than the riots, more than any other event in this period, Dupuy de Lôme’s letter exposed the folly of McKinley’s peace strategy. The minister had involuntarily confirmed congressional and newspaper suspicions that Madrid was negotiating in bad faith. He had revealed that the good offices of the presidency were being manipulated in Spain’s desperate bid to maintain its possession—a far greater insult to the United States than the personal slighting of McKinley. In sum, Dupuy de Lôme had destroyed the president’s lone argument against the use of force in the name of humanity to bring peace to Cuba.
 
In the wake of the letter’s publication, Dupuy de Lôme resigned his office and, after a week of diplomatic wrangling, Spain agreed to apologize to Washington and to reassert its commitment to its promised reforms. The damage, however, was done. The U.S. Senate heard three proposals for recognition of Cuba as an independent republic.
19
The Senate Foreign Affairs Committee entertained a resolution demanding from the administration all consular reports on the consequences of reconcentration and the progress of autonomy. The resolution passed unanimously, indicating the president’s assent. It was understood, writes the diplomatic historian John L. Offner, “that the consular reports would provide Congress with the basis for intervention in Cuba.”
20
 
The notion that Hearst hyped the letter as a pretext for war persists to this day, but the
Journal
never advanced Dupuy de Lôme ’s indiscretion as a casus belli. It did pronounce the McKinley peace strategy dead, and it did, consistent with its standing policy, insist on immediate U.S. intervention in Cuba (a measure that might or might not lead to war, depending on Spain’s response). What else, asked the paper, was Washington going to do—“wait for the autonomy burlesque to somehow bear fruit? Wait for Spain to arm itself and prepare for war?”
21
The most succinct expression of the
Journal
’s position was as follows: “Diplomacy can deal with de Lôme’s folly at its leisure, but humanity calls for instant action in behalf of bleeding Cuba.”
22
 
There is some substance to the accusation by the
Tribune
that the
Journal
handled the letter with “baseness and malignity.”
23
The
Journal
had history with the minister. They had sniped at one another over filibusters and atrocity reports, the expulsion of correspondents from Cuba, and the Cisneros affair, among other stories. Hearst did not simply publish the offending letter: he beat it to death for the better part of a week. He ran a banner headline characterizing it as the worst insult to the United States in its history, a blatant exaggeration, even considering Spain’s trifling with the office of the president. He treated readers to comprehensive annotations of the letter to ensure that no deprecatory nuance was overlooked. He announced, precipitously, that Dupuy de Lôme had been handed his walking papers. He dredged up the minister’s previous indiscretions, from blithe dismissals of the humanitarian disaster in Cuba to slighting remarks on American women (retrieved from a travelogue published in the 1870s). Even in an age of indecorous journalism, this was laying it on thick.
 
None of these antics endeared the
Journal
to Spain. When the paper’s 138-foot yacht
Buccaneer,
a replacement for the
Vamoose,
arrived at Havana on February 11 carrying the writer Julian Hawthorne and his party, it was boarded by harbor police looking for Karl Decker. Unable to find him, they instead pointed to several small artillery pieces mounted on the
Buccaneer
’s decks and impounded the vessel. The
Journal
feigned outrage, declaring a “Spanish-
Journal
War

and asking why the seizure had been allowed to occur almost under the guns of the
Maine.
24
Also around this time, dynamite was discovered at the
Journal
’s offices in Casa Nueva. Whether the bomb was intended for the paper or for the building’s other prominent tenant, the U.S. consulate, is unclear, but the legation made its opinion clear by asking the newspaper to find new digs.
 
Hearst’s papers had never been afraid to call attention to themselves, but somewhere between the Havana riots and the Dupuy de Lôme letter, the
Journal
began pushing the practice to extremes. Every insult from a Spanish source, every word of commendation from a congressional figure, however minor, was given excited display. In late January, two weeks after the Havana riots, Hearst ran a feature in a Sunday edition by one Rafael Guerra claiming that mobs had been determined not only to destroy
El Reconcentrado
’s offices but to attack the
Journal
as well. A headline suggested it was “only by a miracle that wholesale slaughter of Americans was averted.”
25
The body of the story more soberly admits that no damage was done to the
Journal
or its staff.
 
Hearst was obviously feeling more than the usual competitive pressures. His editorial line had lost some of its distinctiveness as pro-Cuban and pro-intervention views gained currency. One way to compensate was to talk up the
Journal
’s exploits and grab recognition for the shift in public mood. Another was to use even flashier layouts. The front-page template was now routinely blown apart to make way for larger cartoons and illustrations and for multiplying layers of display copy. The strategies worked for Hearst in that his paper’s circulation seemed to grow in proportion to the size of its headlines and the volume of its self-promotion. On many days, however, the self-promotion amounted to self-absorption, which would only get worse in the wake of the third great shock to Spanish-American relations.
 
 
 
ON THE EVENING OF FEBRUARY 15, 1898, the battleship
Maine
swung on its mooring so that its bow pointed out of Havana harbor, as if it were trying to escape its fate. The night was warm and still; the sky was overcast, and the air heavy. Captain Sigsbee, a straight and trim officer with thirty-five years of exemplary service and a long mustache overhanging his lips, was at the polished desk in his cabin, writing a letter home. When the marine bugler sounded taps at ten past nine, Sigsbee paused to listen. The enlisted men were already in their berths. They were also grumpy. It was the second day of Carnival in Havana, and the city’s cantinas and palm-lined streets were bursting with revelers, the women wearing their longest earrings, the men their loudest trousers. The bells and drums could be heard across the water, but Sigsbee had still not allowed the sailors off the ship. The
Maine
’s officers had at least seen the city, its dances and promenades, and a handful of them remained on the decks this evening, smoking cigars and watching the lights twinkle ashore.
 
Sigsbee finished his letter and was reaching to put it in an envelope when he heard what sounded like a gunshot. It was followed a second later by a heart-stopping, bone-shaking explosion. The ocean floor seemed to heave up beneath him. Sigsbee heard “ominous, metallic sounds” as the ship lurched violently and listed, trembling, to port.
26
He fought his way from his quarters in the aft section of the ship through the blackness and smoke to the deck, knowing for certain that the
Maine
was destroyed and sinking beneath him.
 
Passengers on the deck of the commercial steamer
City of Washington
didn’t so much hear as feel the blast from across the harbor. They saw a column of flame and white smoke shoot 150 feet over the
Maine.
It mushroomed, sending fire and metal debris hundreds of yards in every direction. They watched the bow of the battleship rear up before plunging beneath the water. They saw the foremast and smokestacks topple, and a fiery gash open in the starboard deck.
 
George Bronson Rea was dining that evening with Scovel and his wife in the glittering café of the Inglaterra, looking out on Parque Central. He noticed his dinnerware vibrating a split second before the shock of the explosion blew out the hotel’s windows and sent diners scurrying for cover in doorways and under tables. The sky over the harbor flashed bright as day. The men deposited Mrs. Scovel in the safety of her rooms and sprinted for the wharves to find the
Maine
on its side, half sunk and burning, its artillery shells bursting at random. Rea and Scovel jumped into a rowboat with the chief of the Havana police and bent oars for the burning ship. Searchlights combed the water, turning up floating white shapes the men quickly realized were the bodies of crew. “Great God,” Scovel said. “They are all gone. This is the work of a torpedo.”
27

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