Shortly after the Democratic National Convention I gave a dinner at the newspaper men's cottage at Sea Girt, to which I invited the Democratic candidate and the newspaper men, in order that they might be given a chance to meet him in the most intimate way and obtain from him what he was pleased to call the "inside" of his mind. Upon the conclusion of the dinner, the Democratic candidate opened his heart in a little talk of the most intimate and interesting character. It contained not only his views of the Presidency, but also a frank discussion of the great problems that would confront the next administration. In referring to Mr. Roosevelt, he said that he had done a great service in rousing the country from its lethargy, and in that work he had rendered admirable and lasting service, but beyond that he had failed, for he had not, during his administrations, attacked two of the major problems: the tariff and the currency, which he, Wilson, considered to be the heart and centre of the whole movement for lasting and permanent reform in America. Discussing Mr. Roosevelt, he said:
He promised too often the millennium. No public man has a right to go so far afield. You have no right to promise Heaven unless you can bring us to it, for, in making promises, you create too much expectation and your failure brings with it only disappointment and sometimes despair. As a candidate for the Presidency I do not want to promise Heaven unless I can bring you to it. I can only see a little distance up the road. I cannot tell you what is around the corner. The successful leader ought not to keep too far in advance of the mass he is seeking to lead, for he will soon lose contact with them. No unusual expectation ought to be created by him. When messages are brought to me by my friends of what is expected of the next President, I am sometimes terrified at the task that would await me in case I should be elected. For instance, my daughter, who is engaged in social-welfare work in Philadelphia, told me of a visit she paid a humble home in that city where the head of a large family told her that her husband was going to vote for me because it would mean cheaper bread. My God, gentlemen, just think of the responsibility an expectation of that kind creates! I can't reduce the price of bread. I can only strive in the few years I shall have in office to remove the noxious growths that have been planted in our soil and try to clear the way for the new adjustment which is necessary. That adjustment cannot be brought about suddenly. We cannot arbitrarily turn right about face and pull one policy up by the roots and cast it aside, while we plant another in virgin soil. A great industrial system has been built up in this country under the fosterage of the Government, behind a wall of unproductive taxes. Changes must be brought about, first here, then there, and then there again. We must move from step to step with as much prudence as resolution. In other words, we are called upon to perform a delicate operation, and in performing a delicate operation it is necessary for the surgeon who uses the knife to know where the foundation of vitality is, so that in cutting out the excrescence he shall not interfere with the vital tissues.
And while we do so we must create by absolute fairness and open- mindedness the atmosphere of mutual concession. There are no old scores to be paid off; there are no resentments to be satisfied; there is no revolution to be attempted. Men of every interest must be drawn into conference as to what it behooves us to do, and what it is possible for us to do. No one should be excluded from the conference except those who will not come in upon terms of equality and the common interest. We deal with great and delicate matters.
We should deal with them with pure and elevated purpose, without fear, without excitement, without undue haste, like men dealing with the sacred fortunes of a great country, and not like those who play for political advantage, or seek to reverse any policy in their own behalf.
The election being over, the President-elect proceeded with the selection of his Cabinet and with that end in view immediately began those conferences with his friends throughout the country in an effort to gather information upon which to base a final selection. All sorts of suggestions began to flow into the Executive offices at Trenton. Tentative slates were prepared for consideration, and the records and antecedents of the men whose names appeared on them, were subjected to a searching scrutiny. Every now and then during this period the President-elect would discuss with me the various candidates and ask me to investigate this or that phase of the character of certain men under consideration.
One day as we were leaving the Executive offices at Trenton, the Governor said: "Tumulty, you have read Gideon Wells's 'Diary of the Civil War', have you not?" I told him that some months before he had generously presented me with those three interesting volumes that contained a most accurate and comprehensive inside view of Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet. "Who," he said, "in Wells's discussion of the Lincoln Cabinet reminds you of William F. McCombs?" I replied that, in some respects, William A. Seward, Mr. Lincoln's Secretary of State. Not, of course, in the bigness of Seward's mind, for I was not attempting to make any comparison between the intellects of the two men, but in the effort of Seward to dominate Lincoln and thus creating jealousies in other members of the Cabinet that were the cause of continual embarrassment to Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Wilson turned to me and said: "You are absolutely right, and that is one reason why I have not seriously considered the claims of Mr. McCombs for a Cabinet post. I am sure that if I did put him in my Cabinet, I should find him interfering with the administration of the other departments in the same way that Seward sought to interfere, for instance, with the Treasury Department under Salmon P. Chase. McCombs is a man of fine intellect, but he is never satisfied unless he plays the stellar role, and I am afraid he cannot work in harness with other men and that I should never get any real team work from him. There is another serious objection to McCombs for a place in my Cabinet. A few days ago he boldly informed me that he desired to have the post of Attorney General. When I asked him why he preferred to be Attorney General, he informed me that, being a lawyer, the Attorney Generalship would help him professionally after his term of office expired. What a surprising statement for any man to make! Why, Tumulty, many of the scandals of previous administrations have come about in this way, Cabinet officers using their posts to advance their own personal fortunes. It must not be done in our administration. It would constitute a grave scandal to appoint such a man to so high an office."
It has often been charged by Mr. McCombs' friends that Mr. Wilson showed a lack of appreciation of his services and an utter disregard of the fine things McCombs did in his behalf. Those of us who were on the inside and witnessed the patience of Woodrow Wilson in handling this most difficult person know how untrue such statements are. I personally know that during the trying days preceding the election most of Mr. Wilson's time was given over to straightening out McCombs and attempting to satisfy his mind that neither Mr. McAdoo, Colonel House, nor any other friends of Mr. Wilson were seeking to unhorse him and to take his place in the candidate's affections. Never did any man show greater patience than did Woodrow Wilson in his attitude toward McCombs. The illness of McCombs during the campaign fed fuel to the fires of his naturally jealous disposition. He suspected everybody; trusted no one, and suspected that the President's friends were engaged in a conspiracy to destroy him. Of course, it is true that Mr. Wilson refused to give him the post of Attorney General which he greatly coveted, for reasons I have fully stated above; but at the very time when McCombs' friends were saying that the President had ignored him and failed to offer him any place in his administration, the President had already tendered McCombs his choice of two of the most important diplomatic posts at his disposal—the Ambassadorship to Germany and the Ambassadorship to France. An interesting incident in connection with the offer of the French post to McCombs and his acceptance of it is worth relating.
The President arrived in Washington on the third of March and went to the Shoreham Hotel. McCombs had already received Mr. Wilson's offer of the French Ambassadorship, and on the night of the third of March he concluded he would accept it. He sent a messenger to the Shoreham Hotel with his letter of acceptance. Before the arrival of McCombs' letter at the Shoreham the President had retired for the night, and the message was inserted under the door of his room. However, it seems that shortly after sending the message of acceptance McCombs changed his mind and sent a friend to the Shoreham to recover the letter, and at twelve o'clock at night I found him outside of the President's room on his knees, busily engaged in digging out McCombs' letter of acceptance from underneath the door.
From that time on, with every changing wind, McCombs would first accept and then reject the offer of the French post. By his vacillation he prevented the appointment of an Ambassador to France for four months. He had easy access to the President and saw him frequently. As he left the White House after calling on the President one day, Mr. Wilson showed sharp irritation and said to me: "If McCombs would only discuss somebody else for office save himself I would be more interested."
That the offer of the French post was made by the President and rejected by McCombs is evidenced by the following letter, addressed to the President by McCombs, under date of April 3, 1913:
WILLIAM F. MCCOMBSCOUNSELLOR AT LAW96 Broadway & 6 Wall StreetNew York
April 3, 1913.
My Dear Mr. President:
Since I saw you on Saturday, I have been making continuous efforts to dispose of my affairs so that I might accept your very flattering offer. I have been in touch with Tumulty from day to day to find out whether my delay was embarrassing you in any way, and he told me it was not.
Of course, I did not want to inconvenience you. As I have told you before, my difficulty in accepting the post has lain in the adjustments of my financial affairs here and in the forming of a connection which would continue, in some degree, my practice. The clientèle which any lawyer has is very largely personal to himself, and it is almost impossible to arrange that the affairs of such a clientèle be handled by others. This is the difficulty under which I have labored.
After intimations to my clients, I find my absence would, in their view, be prejudicial to their interests and that they would each seek separate counsel. This would mean my return to New York without any clientèle whatsoever and a new start. After the statement which you so kindly issued, it occurred to me that I might make an arrangement under which my affairs could be handled. I am convinced now that it is impossible, and that I must remain here to maintain myself. During the past two years I have been compelled to neglect my business to a very large extent, and I feel that it is absolutely essential for me to recoup. In view of the very great honor of the French post, I was quite willing to sacrifice almost anything. I now know that the sacrifice would be complete.
I was sorry to see in the New York papers of yesterday, under Washington date line, that I had accepted the embassy. It has placed me in a most embarrassing position, and has caused general comment of vacillation. I cannot imagine how the fact that I was re-considering became public. The press clippings I get in the matter are most annoying to me, and must be to you. I suppose the only thing to say in the matter is that my position is the same as it was when my statement was given out in Washington.
Let me again thank you very deeply for the great honor you haveconferred upon me. I sincerely wish it were within my power to accept.It is such a thing as rarely comes in a man's lifetime.
Believe me as ever,Always yours to command,WM. F. MCCOMBS.
HON. WOODROW WILSON,The White House,Washington, D. C.
[Illustration: A letter from the man who could not make up his mind [Transcriber's note: the illustration contains a reproduction of the above-quoted letter.]]
Even after McCombs had declined the French post, as recited in the above letter to the President, he continued to vacillate, and addressed the following telegrams and cables to me in regard to the French Ambassadorship:
New York, April 4, 1913.
HON. JOS. P. TUMULTY,Washington, D. C.
Confidentially, expect to come tomorrow. Please suspend on matteruntil I see you.
* * * * *
New York April 25, 1913.
JOS. P. TUMULTY,Washington, D. C.
Confirm understanding that nothing be done for the present and nothingsent in.
* * * * *
Sagaponac, N. Y., May 3, 1913.Radio S. S.Olympic.
JOS. P. TUMULTY,White House,Washington, D. C.
Will cable about time sending name in when I reach Paris inacceptanceour understanding.
* * * * *
Paris, Via French, May 13, 1913.
JOS. P. TUMULTY,White House,Washington.
Have been ill, improving. Cable you Thursday in matter.
* * * * *
Paris, June 1, 1913.
J. P. TUMULTY,Washington.
Some better. Operation doubtful. Question delayed a few days.
Then came the following cable to the President from Col. E. M. House:
Paris, June 12, 1913.
THE PRESIDENTWashington.
Damon [code name for McCombs] requests me to say that after he seespresent incumbent tomorrow he will cable you. He is much improved.
* * * * *
Paris, June 18, 1913.
JOS. P. TUMULTY,Washington.
Am sending conclusive message through usual channel so you get ittomorrow morning. This confirms message today which was incomplete.Hope everything will be o. k.
Mc.
* * * * *
Paris, July 6, 1913.
J. P. TUMULTY,Washington.
Accept if no previous arrangement cable at once care Monroe BanquierParis.
* * * * *
Paris, July 7, 1913.
TUMULTY,Washington.
Better wait a little or leave out for another strictly confidential.
By this last message McCombs meant that the President had better wait a little for him to make up his mind, or to select another for the French post, which the President refused to do.
The kindest explanation of Mr. McCombs' distorted and entirely untruthful story is that his sensitive mind had brooded so long on fancied injuries that he had come to believe that what he deposed was true. He was sensitive to a pathological degree, jealous, suspicious of everybody, and consumed with ambition to appear as the sole maker of President Wilson politically. He is dead, and it would have been pleasanter to keep silent about him. I should have remained silent had he not left his embittered manuscript in the hands of friends, with directions to publish it after his death, when those whom he attacks in its various chapters would feel a hesitancy about challenging his statements and attempting in any way to asperse his memory. That he was abnormal was known to all who came into intimate contact with him during the campaign and after. His suspicions and spites manifested themselves in ways so small that he would have been laughable had he not been pitiable. The simple fact is that both the nomination and the election of Governor Wilson were in spite of Mr. McCombs, not because of him. Mr. McCombs was ill during most of the campaign, which had to be directed by the assistant chairman, Mr. McAdoo, with all possible embarrassing interference from the chairman's sick room.
The full force of McCombs' petty spite, malice, and jealousy was expended upon Mr. William G. McAdoo of New York, who at the time had established a high reputation for his courage and intrepidity in building the famous Manhattan and Hudson tunnels. Mr. McAdoo, in the early days of Woodrow Wilson's candidacy, took his place at the fore-front of the Wilson forces. At the time of his espousal of the Wilson cause he was the only leader in the New York financial world ready and courageous enough to take up the cudgels for Mr. Wilson. His influence thrown to the Wilson side strengthened the Wilson cause in every part of the country. Every intimation that reached McCombs during the campaign that Mr. McAdoo, as vice-chairman of the National Committee, was engaged in doing this or that thing in connection with his duties as vice-chairman, was always calculated to stir anew the fires of envy and jealousy which seemed always burning in the breast of McCombs.
I was in close touch with Mr. Wilson and all the phases of his campaign at the time, and on several occasions was asked to act as mediator in the differences between Mr. McAdoo and Mr. McCombs, and I am, therefore, in a position calmly to analyze and assess the reasons for McCombs' implacable hatred of Mr. McAdoo. I found that the motives which actuated McCombs were of the pettiest and meanest sort. At their base lay the realization that Mr. McAdoo had, by his gallant and helpful support of Mr. Wilson, won his admiration and deep respect, and now everything must be done by McCombs and his friends to destroy Mr. McAdoo in the estimation of the Democratic candidate for the Presidency. In the efforts put forth by McCombs and his friends to destroy Mr. Wilson's high opinion of Mr. McAdoo every contemptible and underhanded method was resorted to. Mr. McAdoo reacted to these unfair attacks in the most kindly and magnanimous way. Never for a single moment did he allow the McCombs campaign against him to stand in the way of Woodrow Wilson's advancement to the Presidency.
During the whole time that Mr. McCombs was engaged in his vendetta, Mr. McAdoo was generous, gallant, big, and forgiving, even suggesting to the Democratic candidate, in my presence, that it might be wiser for him (McAdoo) to withdraw from the campaign, so that "things at headquarters might run easier and more smoothly." Mr. Wilson would not by any act of his permit the sniping methods of McCombs to be rewarded in the withdrawal of McAdoo from his campaign.
After the election and when it was certain that McAdoo was being seriously considered for the post of Secretary of the Treasury, McCombs' jealousy began to exert itself in the most venomous way. He tried to persuade Mr. Wilson that the selection of Mr. McAdoo for the post of Secretary of the Treasury would be too much a recognition of the Wall Street point of view, and would be considered a repudiation of McCombs' leadership in the National Committee.
The campaign of McCombs to prevent the nomination of Mr. McAdoo for a post in the Cabinet failed utterly. His poison brigade then gathered at the Shoreham Hotel in Washington on the day of the Inauguration and, attempting to reform their broken lines, now sought to prevent his confirmation at the hands of the Senate. Every agency of opposition that McCombs could invoke to accomplish this purpose was put into action, but like all his efforts against Mr. McAdoo they met with failure. Mr. McAdoo was confirmed and took his place as Secretary of the Treasury, where his constructive genius in matters of finance was soon brought into play, and under his magnificent leadership the foundation stones of the Federal Reserve system were laid, the fruitage of which is now being realized in every business throughout the country.
Frequent conferences were held at Princeton with reference to theselection of the President's Cabinet, and in these conferences ColonelHouse and I participated. At a luncheon at the Sterling Hotel at TrentonMr. Bryan was offered the post of Secretary of State.
On the first of March the post of Secretary of War was still open. It had been offered to Mr. A. Mitchell Palmer of Pennsylvania and had been declined by him for an unusual reason. The President requested Mr. Palmer to meet him at Colonel House's apartment in New York. When the President tendered him the position of Secretary of War, Mr. Palmer frankly told the President that he was a Quaker and that the tenets of his religion prevented his acceptance of any position having to do with the conduct of war. The President tried to overcome these scruples, but his efforts were unavailing. The President then telephoned me and informed me of Palmer's declination and asked if I had any suggestion regarding the vacancy in his Cabinet. I told him that I was anxious to see a New Jersey man occupy a place at his Cabinet table, and we discussed the various possibilities over the 'phone, but without reaching any definite conclusion. I informed the President that I would suggest the name of someone within a few hours. I then went to the library in my home in New Jersey and in looking over theLawyers' DiaryI ran across the name of Lindley Garrison, who at the time was vice-chancellor of the state of New Jersey. Mr. Garrison was a resident of my home town and although I had only met him casually and had tried a few cases before him, he had made a deep impression upon me as a high type of equity judge.
I telephoned the President-elect that night and suggested the name of Lindley Garrison, whose reputation as a distinguished judge of the Chancery Court was known to the President-elect. He was invited to Trenton the next day and without having the slightest knowledge of the purpose of this summons, he arrived and was offered the post of Secretary of War in Mr. Wilson's Cabinet, which he accepted.
A presidential inauguration is a picturesque affair even when the weather is stormy, as it frequently is on the fourth of March in Washington. It is a brilliant affair when the sun shines bright and the air is balmy, as happened on March 4, 1913, when Woodrow Wilson took the oath of office at noon, delivered his inaugural address a few minutes later, reviewed the parade immediately after luncheon, and before nightfall was at his desk in the White House transacting the business of the Government. To the popular imagination Inauguration Day represents crowds and hurrahs, brass bands and processions. The hotels, restaurants, and boarding houses of Washington overflow with people from all parts of the country who have come to "see the show." The pavements, windows, and housetops along Pennsylvania Avenue from the east front of the Capitol to the western gate of the White House are crowded with folk eager to see the procession with its military column and marching clubs. From an improvised stand in front of the White House, surrounded by his friends, the new President reviews the parade.
Every four years the newspaper boys describe Inauguration Day, but I am not aware of any novelist who has put it in a book. Why not? It offers material of a high order for literary description. "Human interest" material also in abundance, not merely in the aspects of the retiring and incoming Presidents with their respective retinues of important officials, but in the comedies and tragedies of the lesser figures of the motley political world. Familiar faces vanish, new faces appear—especially when a change of administration brings a change of party control. An evacuating column of ousted and dejected office-holders, prophesying national disaster at the hands of parvenus, meets an advancing column of would-be office-holders rejoicing in general over their party's success and palpitantly eager for individual advantage. As in life, so in Washington on Inauguration Day, humour and pathos mingle. Inauguration Day is the beginning of a period of uprooting and transplanting.
So it was when the Democrats came into office on March 4, 1913, after sixteen years of uninterrupted Republican control and for only the third time in the fifty-two years since Buchanan had walked out of the White House and Lincoln had walked in. Hungry Democrats flocked to Washington, dismayed Republicans looked on in silence or with sardonic comment. Democratic old-timers who had been waiting, like Mr. Micawber, for "something to turn up" through long lean years, mingled in the hotel lobbies with youths flushed with the excitement of a first experience In the political game and discussed the "prospects," each confident that he was indispensable to the new administration. Minor officeholders who had, so they said, been political neutrals during the past administration, anxiously scanned the horizon for signs that they would be retained. "Original Wilson men" from various parts of the country were introducing themselves or being introduced by their friends. And there were the thousands, with no axes to grind, who had come simply to look on, or to participate in a long-postponed Democratic rejoicing, or to wish the new President Godspeed for his and the country's sake. It is not my business in a book wholly concerned with the personal side of Woodrow Wilson's political career to attempt a description of Inauguration Day, with its clamours and its heartaches and its hopes. To the new President the day was, as he himself said, not one of "triumph" but of "dedication." For him the occasion had a significance beyond the fortunes of individuals and parties. Something more had happened than a replacement of Republicans by Democrats. He believed that he had been elected as a result of a stirring of the American conscience against thinly masked "privilege" and, a reawakening of American aspiration for government which should more nearly meet the needs of the plain people of the country. He knew that he would have to disappoint many a hungry office-seeker, whose chief claim to preferment lay in his boast that he "had always voted the Democratic ticket." Among the new President's first duties would be the selection of men to fill offices and, of course, in loyalty to his party, he would give preference to Democrats, but it did not please him to think of this in terms of "patronage" and "spoils." With the concentration of a purposeful man he was anxious chiefly to find the best people for the various offices, those capable of doing a day's work and those who could sense the opportunities for service in whole-hearted devotion to the country's common cause. His inaugural address met the expectations of thoughtful hearers. It was on a high plane of statesmanship, uncoloured by partisanship. It was the announcement of a programme in the interest of the country at large, with the idea of trusteeship strongly stressed. There was nothing very radical in the address: nothing to terrify those who were apprehensive lest property rights should be violated. The President gave specific assurance that there would be due attention to "the old-fashioned, never-to-be-neglected, safeguarding of property," but he also immediately added "and of individual right." Legitimate property claims would be scrupulously respected, but it was clear that they who conceived that the chief business of government is the promotion of their private or corporate interests would get little aid and comfort from this administration. The underlying meaning of the President's progressivism was clear: the recovery of old things which through long neglect or misuse had been lost, a return to the starting point of our Government, government in the interest of the many, not of the few: "Our work is a work of restoration"; "We have been refreshed by a new insight into our life."
A deep humanity pervaded the message. To the thoughtful hearer it must have been clear that the President's mind was more occupied with the masses than with special classes. He was not hostile to the classes. He was simply less interested in them. He suggested a social as well as a political programme: "Men and women and children" must be "shielded in their lives, their very vitality, from the consequences of great industrial and social processes which they cannot alter, control, or singly cope with." "The first duty of law is to keep sound the society it serves." Such was the first utterance of the President who in a few weeks was to appear as the champion, not of the special interests, native and foreign, in Mexico, but of the fifteen million Mexican people, groping blindly, through blood and confusion, after some form of self-government, and who in a few years was to appear as the champion of small nations and the masses throughout the world in a titanic struggle against the old principles of autocracy.
Mingled with the high and human tone of it all was a clear and itemized forecast of proposed legislation: a revised tariff, a federal reserve banking system, a farmers' loan bank. And all who knew Woodrow Wilson's record in New Jersey were aware that the Executive would be the leader in the enactment of legislation. The executive and legislative branches of the Government in this administration would, all informed people knew, be in partnership in the promotion of an enterprise as practical as it was inspiring.
After Chief Justice White administered the oath of office, the President read the brief address, of which the following are the concluding words:
This is not a day of triumph; it is a day of dedication. Here muster, not the forces of party, but the forces of humanity. Men's hearts wait upon us; men's lives hang in the balance; men's hopes call upon us to say what we will do. Who shall live up to the great trust? Who dares fail to try? I summon all honest men, all patriotic, all forward- looking men, to my side. God helping me, I will not fail them, if they will but counsel and sustain me!
Many grave matters inherited from the Taft regime pressed upon the new Administration for immediate solution. One of the most serious was the situation in Mexico, growing out of the revolution against the Madero Government which broke out in Mexico City on February 9, 1913. The murder of ex-President Madero and Vice-President Suarez, and the usurpation of presidential authority by General Victoriano Huerta, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the general industrial and social chaos of Mexico, made it necessary for the new administration, only a month in power, quickly to act and to declare its policy with reference to the question then pending as to the recognition of the provisional government, the head of which was Huerta. After becoming "President" of Mexico, the usurper had brazenly addressed the following telegram to President Taft: "I have overthrown the Government and, therefore, peace and order will reign," and boldly asserted a claim to recognition by the Government of the United States. This was the state of affairs in Mexico when President Wilson was inaugurated. The duly-elected President of Mexico, Francisco Madero, had been overthrown by a band of conspirators headed by Huerta. Were the fruits of the hard-won fight of the Mexican masses against the arbitrary rule of the favoured few to be wasted? President Wilson answered this question in his formal statement of March 12, 1913, eight days after his inauguration. With respect to Latin-American affairs, he said:
One of the chief objects of my administration will be to cultivate the friendship and deserve the confidence of our sister republics of Central and South America, and to promote in every proper and honorable way the interests which are common to the peoples of the two continents. I earnestly desire the most cordial understanding and cooperation between the peoples and leaders of America, and, therefore, deem it my duty to make this brief statement:
"Coöperation is possible only when supported at every turn by the orderly processes of just government based upon law, not upon arbitrary or irregular force. We hold, as I am sure all thoughtful leaders of republican governments everywhere hold, that just government rests always upon the consent of the governed, and that there can be no freedom without order based upon law and upon the public conscience and approval. We shall look to make these principles the basis of mutual intercourse, respect, and helpfulness between our sister republics and ourselves….We can have no sympathy with those who seek to seize the power of government to advance their own personal interests or ambition."
Two considerations animated the President in the formulation of his Mexican policy and compelled his adherence in it throughout his administration, namely:
_The firm conviction that all nations, both the weak and the powerful, have the inviolable right to control their internal affairs.
The belief, established from the history of the world, that Mexico will never become a peaceful and law-abiding neighbour of the United States until she has been permitted to achieve a permanent and basic settlement of her troubles without outside interference._
Steadfastly, Woodrow Wilson refused to recognize Huerta as the Provisional President of Mexico. He said: "Huerta, the bitter, implacable foe of everything progressive and humane in Mexico, boldly defending the privileges of the old scientifico group which he represented, openly defied the authority of the United States and sneered at the much- ridiculed policy of 'watchful waiting' proclaimed by the new administration, and laughed to scorn the high idealism which lay behind it." To him the declaration of the American President that "we can have no sympathy with those who seek to seize the power of government to advance their own personal interests or ambition" was a mere gesture, too puerile to be seriously considered.
While Huerta in Mexico was blatantly denouncing this benevolent policy of coöperation and helpfulness, aid and comfort were rendered the usurper by the jingoistic criticisms of the President's enemies in the United States Congress and throughout the country, many of whom, urged on by the oil interests, in their mad delirium, cried out for a blood-and-iron policy toward Mexico. Resisting the American interests in Mexico was a part of the President's task. Those who cried loudest for intervention were they who had land, mineral, and industrial investments in Mexico. The "vigorous American policy" which they demanded was a policy for personal enrichment. It was with this phase of the matter in mind that the President said: "I have to pause and remind myself that I am President of the United States and not of a small group of Americans with vested interests in Mexico."
But the new President, having mapped out the course he was to follow, a course fraught with a great deal of danger to his administration, seeking to bring about the moral isolation of Huerta himself, calmly moved on, apparently unmindful of the jeers and ridicule of his critics in America and elsewhere. "I am willing," he said, "no matter what my personal fortunes may be, to play for the verdict of mankind. Personally, it will be a matter of indifference to me what the verdict on the 7th of November is, provided I feel any degree of confidence that when a later jury sits I shall get their judgment in my favour. Not my favour personally—what difference does that make?—but my favour as an honest and conscientious spokesman of a great nation."
What an utterly foolish thing, said his critics, it is to attempt in this day to oust a Mexican dictator by mere rhetoric and high-sounding phrases!
When Wilson said: "The situation must be given a little more time to work itself out in the new circumstances; I believe that only a little while will be necessary…. We must exercise the self-restraint of a really great nation which realizes its own strength and scorns to misuse it," his enemies smugly shrugged their shoulders and said, with disgust: "Well, what's the use? what can you expect from a dreamer of dreams, a mere doctrinaire? Doesn't Wilson, the historian, know that force and force alone can bring that grizzly old warrior Huerta to his senses?"
What was the President seeking to do in proclaiming his policy of "watchful waiting"? He was merely seeking to establish in Pan-American affairs the principle that no president of a South American republic who came to power by usurpation and assassination should receive, while he was president, the recognition of the United States. This doctrine was not only good statesmanship, but it was likewise sound in morals.
It was disheartening to find bitter criticism of this policy from the outside, and depressing to find the enemies of watchful waiting "boring from within" through his own Cabinet officers. Lindley Garrison, his own Secretary of War, had no sympathy for this idealistic policy. His only antidote for what was happening in Mexico was force and intervention and he honourably urged this view upon the President, but without succeeding in bringing about the consummation so dear to his heart.
And one denies, and one forsakes, and still unquestioning he goes, who has his lonely thoughts.
But the President stood firm in his resolve that the people of Mexico should not be punished for the malefactions of their usurping president, and steadily, against great odds, he moved forward to vindicate his policy, unmindful of the jeers and criticisms of his enemies. The heart of that policy he eloquently exposed when he said: "I am more interested in the fortunes of oppressed men, pitiful women and children, than in any property rights whatever. The people of Mexico are striving for the rights that are fundamental to life and happiness—fifteen million oppressed men, overburdened women, and pitiful children in virtual bondage in their own home of fertile lands and inexhaustible treasure! Some of the leaders of the revolution may often have been mistaken and violent and selfish, but the revolution itself was inevitable and is right. The unspeakable Huerta betrayed the very comrades he served, traitorously overthrew the government of which he was a trusted part, impudently spoke for the very forces that had driven his people to rebellion with which he had pretended to sympathize. The men who overcame him and drove him out represent at least the fierce passion of reconstruction which lies at the very heart of liberty; and so long as they represent, however imperfectly, such a struggle for deliverance, I am ready to serve their ends when I can. So long as the power of recognition rests with me the Government of the United States will refuse to extend the hand of welcome to any one who obtains power in a sister republic by treachery and violence."
But the President's policy of watchful waiting did win. The days of the Huerta regime slowly wended their uneasy way. Huerta suspended the Mexican Constitution and, having imprisoned half of the Mexican Congress, proceeded to administer the Government as an arbitrary ruler. Slowly but surely he began to feel the mighty pressure of the unfriendly Government of the United States upon him. Still defiant, he sought to unite behind him the Mexican people, hoping to provoke them to military action against the United States. To hold his power he was willing to run the risk of making his own country a bloody shamble, but President Wilson had the measure of the tyrant Huerta from the beginning, and soon his efforts to isolate him began to bear fruit. Even now his bitter critics gave a listening ear to the oft-repeated statement of the American President, as if it contained the germ of a prophecy:
The steady pressure of moral force will before many days break the barriers of pride and prejudice down, and we shall triumph as Mexico's friends sooner than we could triumph as her enemy—and how much more handsomely and with how much higher and finer satisfactions of conscience and of honour!
Little by little the usurper was being isolated. By moral pressure every day his power and prestige were perceptibly crumbling. His collapse was not far away when the President declared: "We shall not, I believe, be obliged to alter our policy of watchful waiting." The campaign of Woodrow Wilson to force Huerta finally triumphed. On July 15th, Huerta resigned and departed from Mexico. Wilson's humanity and broad statesmanship had won over the system of cruel oppression for which the "unspeakable Huerta" had stood.
During the Huerta controversy a thing happened which aggravated theMexican affair, and which culminated in the now-famous Tampico incident.
On April 9, 1914, a paymaster of the United States steamshipDolphinlanded at the Iturbide bridge at Tampico with a whaleboat and boat's crew to obtain supplies needed aboard theDolphin.While loading these supplies the paymaster and his men were arrested by an officer and squad of the army of General Huerta. Neither the paymaster nor any of the boat's crew were armed. The boat flew the United States flag both at the bow and stern. Two of the men were in the boat when arrested and hence were taken from United States "soil." Admiral Mayo, senior American officer stationed off Tampico, immediately demanded the release of the sailors. Release was ordered after the paymaster and the sailors had been detained about an hour. Not only did Admiral Mayo demand the release of the sailors but insisted on a formal apology by the Huerta Government consisting of a twenty-one-gun salute to the flag.
During the critical days following the refusal of Huerta to accede toAdmiral Mayo's request the State Department was notified that there wouldarrive at Vera Cruz the German steamshipYpirangoabout to deliver toHuerta 15,000,000 rounds of ammunition and 500 rapid-fire guns.
About 2.30 o'clock in the morning of the 21st day of April, 1914, the telephone operator at the White House called me at my home, and rousing me from bed, informed me that the Secretary of State, Mr. Bryan, desired to speak to me at once upon a very urgent and serious matter. I went to the telephone and was informed by Mr. Bryan that he had just received a wireless informing him that the German steamshipYpirango,carrying munitions would arrive at Vera Cruz that morning about ten o'clock and that he thought the President ought to be notified and that, in his opinion, drastic measures should at once be taken to prevent the delivery of these munitions to the Customs House at Vera Cruz. While Mr. Bryan and I were talking, Mr. Daniels, the Secretary of the Navy, got on the wire and confirmed all that Mr. Bryan had just told me. Soon the President was on the 'phone, and in a voice indicating that he had just been aroused from sleep, carried on the following conversation with Messrs. Bryan, Daniels, and myself: Mr. Bryan reported to him the situation at Vera Cruz and informed him of the receipt of the wireless:
"Mr. President, I am sorry to inform you that I have just received a wireless that a German ship will arrive at Vera Cruz this morning at ten o'clock, containing large supplies of munitions and arms for the Mexicans and I want your judgment as to how we shall handle the situation."
Replying to Mr. Bryan, the President said: "Of course, Mr. Bryan, you understand what drastic action in this matter might ultimately mean in our relations with Mexico?"
Mr. Bryan said, by way of reply:
"I thoroughly appreciate this, Mr. President, and fully considered it before telephoning you." For a second there was a slight pause and then the President asked Mr. Daniels his opinion in regard to the matter.
Mr. Daniels frankly agreed with Mr. Bryan that immediate action should be taken to prevent the German ship from landing its cargo. Without a moment's delay the President said to Mr. Daniels:
"Daniels, send this message to Admiral Fletcher: 'Take Vera Cruz at once'."
As I sat at the 'phone on this fateful morning, away from the hurly-burly world outside, clad only in my pajamas, and listened to this discussion, the tenseness of the whole situation and its grave possibilities of war with all its tragedy gripped me. Here were three men quietly gathered about a 'phone, pacifists at heart, men who had been criticized and lampooned throughout the whole country as being anti-militarist, now without hesitation of any kind agreeing on a course of action that might result in bringing two nations to war. They were pacifists no longer, but plain, simple men, bent upon discharging the duty they owed their country and utterly disregarding their own personal feelings of antagonism to every phase of war.
After Mr. Bryan and Mr. Daniels had left the telephone the President said: "Tumulty, are you there? What did you think of my message?" I replied that there was nothing else to do under the circumstances. He then said: "It is too bad, isn't it, but we could not allow that cargo to land. The Mexicans intend using those guns upon our own boys. It is hard to take action of this kind. I have tried to keep out of this Mexican mess, but we are now on the brink of war and there is no alternative."
Discussing this vital matter that morning with the Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy, I could visualize the possible tragedy of the whole affair. I pictured the flagship of Admiral Fletcher with its fine cargo of sturdy young marines, riding serenely at anchor off Vera Cruz, and those aboard the vessel utterly unmindful of the message that was now on its way through the air, an ominous message which to some of them would be a portent of death. When the President concluded his conversation with me his voice was husky. It indicated to me that he felt the solemnity of the whole delicate business he was now handling, while the people of America, whose spokesman he was, were at this hour quietly sleeping in their beds, unaware and unmindful of the grave import of this message which was already on its way to Vera Cruz.
When I arrived at the White House the next morning I found the newspaper correspondents attached to the Executive offices uninformed of what had happened in the early morning, but when I notified them that the President had ordered Admiral Fletcher at 2.30 o'clock in the morning to take Vera Cruz, they jumped, as one man, to the door, to flash this significant news to the country and the world.
With Huerta's abdication Venustiano Carranza took hold, but the Mexican troubles were not at an end. The constant raiding expeditions of Villa across the American border were a source of great irritation and threatened every few days a conflagration. While Villa stood with Carranza as a companion in arms to depose Huerta, the"entente cordiale"was at an end as soon as Huerta passed off the stage. With these expeditions of Villa and his motley crew across the border our relations with our neighbour to the south were again seriously threatened. With Villa carrying on his raids and Carranza always misunderstanding the purpose and attitude of our Government and spurning its offer of helpful cooperation, difficulties of various sorts arose with each day, until popular opinion became insistent in its demand for vigorous action on the part of the American President. Every ounce of reserve patience of the President was called into action to keep the situation steady. How to do it, with many incidents happening each day to intensify and aggravate an already acute situation, was the problem that met the President at every turn. At this time the President was the loneliest figure in Washington.
Grotesque uncertain shapes infest the darkAnd wings of bats are heard in aimless flight;Discordant voices cry and serpents hiss,No friendly star, no beacon's beckoning ray.
Even the members of his own party in the Senate and House were left without an apology or excuse for the seeming indifference of the President to affairs in Mexico. Day after day from outraged senators would come vigorous demands for firm action on the part of America, insistent that something radical be done to establish conditions of peace along our southern borders. From many of them came the unqualified demand for intervention, so that the Mexican question should be once and for all settled.
[Illustration:
Dear Tumulty,
Can't talk less than half an hour to save his life, and when he is through he has talked on so many different subjects that I never can remember what he said. It is literally impossible for me with the present pressure upon me to see him, and I hope you will ask him if he can't submit a memorandum.
The President.C.L.S.
Dear Tumulty:
I should like to see Mr. —— but just now it does not seem possible because I know he is a gentleman who needs a good deal of sea room. I am taking his suggestions up with the Secretary of the Navy.
The President.C.L.S.
Dealing with bores.]
In the Cabinet, the Secretary of War, the vigorous spokesman of the Cabinet group, demanding radical action in the way of intervention, was insisting that we intervene and put an end to the pusillanimous rule of Carranza and "clean up" Mexico. Even I, who had stood with the President during the critical days of the Mexican imbroglio, for a while grew faint hearted in my devotion to the policy of watchful waiting. To me, the attack of Villa on Columbus, and the killing of some of our soldiers while asleep, was the last straw. The continuance of this impossible situation along the border was unthinkable. To force the President's hand, if possible, I expressed my feelings in the following letters to him:
March 15, 1916.
I have been thinking over what we discussed this morning with reference to the Mexican situation. I am not acting on impulse and without a full realization, I hope, of everything that is involved. I am convinced that we should pursue to the end the declared purpose announced by you last Friday and endorsed by Congress and the people of the United States of "getting Villa." If thede factogovernment is going to resist the entrance of our troops, a new situation will be presented. I feel that you ought to advise Congress at the earliest possible moment of what the situation really is in order to secure its support and cooperation in whatever action is needed to accomplish the purpose you have in mind. To retrace our steps now would be not only disastrous to our party and humiliating to the country, but would be destructive of our influence in international affairs and make it forever impossible to deal in any effective way with Mexican affairs.
Your appeal to Congress ought to deal with this matter in an affirmative way, asking for the requisite power which you may feel assured will be granted you in ungrudging fashion.
My apology for writing you is my distress of mind and my deep interest in everything that affects you and your future and, I hope, the country's welfare. I would not be your friend if I did not tell you frankly how I feel.
Faithfully,TUMULTY.
THE PRESIDENT,The White House.
* * * * *
June 24, 1916.
The Mexican authorities admit that they have taken American soldiers and incarcerated them. The people feel that a demand should be made for their immediate release, and that it should not take the form of an elaborate note. Only firmness and an unflinching insistence upon our part will bring the gentlemen in Mexico City to their senses.
If I were President at this moment, or acting as Secretary of State, my message to Carranza would be the following:
"Release those American soldiers or take the consequences."
This would ring around the world.
Faithfully,TUMULTY.
THE PRESIDENT,The White House.
After reading these letters, the President sent for me one day to visit with him in his study, and to discuss "the present situation in Mexico." As I sat down, he turned to me in the most serious way and said: "Tumulty, you are Irish, and, therefore, full of fight. I know how deeply you feel about this Columbus affair. Of course, it is tragical and deeply regrettable from every standpoint, but in the last analysis I, and not the Cabinet or you, must bear the responsibility for every action that is to be taken. I have to sleep with my conscience in these matters and I shall be held responsible for every drop of blood that may be spent in the enterprise of intervention. I am seriously considering every phase of this difficult matter, and I can say frankly to you, and you may inform the Cabinet officers who discuss it with you, that 'there won't be any war with Mexico if I can prevent it,' no matter how loud the gentlemen on the hill yell for it and demand it. It is not a difficult thing for a president to declare war, especially against a weak and defenceless nation like Mexico. In a republic like ours, the man on horseback is always an idol, and were I considering the matter from the standpoint of my own political fortunes, and its influence upon the result of the next election, I should at once grasp this opportunity and invade Mexico, for it would mean the triumph of my administration. But this has never been in my thoughts for a single moment. The thing that daunts me and holds me back is the aftermath of war, with all its tears and tragedies. I came from the South and I know what war is, for I have seen its wreckage and terrible ruin. It is easy for me as President to declare war. I do not have to fight, and neither do the gentlemen on the Hill who now clamour for it. It is some poor farmer's boy, or the son of some poor widow away off in some modest community, or perhaps the scion of a great family, who will have to do the fighting and the dying. I will not resort to war against Mexico until I have exhausted every means to keep out of this mess. I know they will call me a coward and a quitter, but that will not disturb me. Time, the great solvent, will, I am sure, vindicate this policy of humanity and forbearance. Men forget what is back of this struggle in Mexico. It is the age-long struggle of a people to come into their own, and while we look upon the incidents in the foreground, let us not forget the tragic reality in the background which towers above this whole sad picture. The gentlemen who criticize me speak as if America were afraid to fight Mexico. Poor Mexico, with its pitiful men, women, and children, fighting to gain a foothold in their own land! They speak of the valour of America. What is true valour? I would be just as much ashamed to be rash as I would to be a coward. Valour is self-respecting. Valour is circumspect. Valour strikes only when it is right to strike. Valour withholds itself from all small implications and entanglements and waits for the great opportunity when the sword will flash as if it carried the light of heaven upon its blade."
As the President spoke, his eyes flashed and his lips quivered with the deep emotion he felt. It was the first time he had unburdened himself and laid bare his real feelings toward Mexico. Rising from his chair, he walked toward the window of his study, the very window out of which Lincoln had looked upon the Potomac and the hills of Virginia during the critical days of the Civil War when he was receiving bad news about the defeat of the Northern army. Continuing his talk, he said: "Tumulty, some day the people of America will know why I hesitated to intervene in Mexico. I cannot tell them now for we are at peace with the great power whose poisonous propaganda is responsible for the present terrible condition of affairs in Mexico. German propagandists are there now, fomenting strife and trouble between our countries. Germany is anxious to have us at war with Mexico, so that our minds and our energies will be taken off the great war across the sea. She wishes an uninterrupted opportunity to carry on her submarine warfare and believes that war with Mexico will keep our hands off her and thus give her liberty of action to do as she pleases on the high seas. It begins to look as if war with Germany is inevitable. If it should come—I pray God it may not—I do not wish America's energies and forces divided, for we will need every ounce of reserve we have to lick Germany. Tumulty, we must try patience a little longer and await the development of the whole plot in Mexico."
Did not the publication of the famous Zimmerman note show that German intrigue was busy in Mexico?
Berlin, January 19, 1917.
On the first of February we intend to begin submarine warfare unrestricted. In spite of this it is our intention to keep neutral with the United States of America. If this attempt is not successful, we propose an alliance with Mexico on the following basis: That we shall make war together and together make peace. We shall give general financial support and it is understood that Mexico is to reconquer the lost territory in New Mexico, Texas and Arizona. The details are left to you for settlement.
You are instructed to inform the President of Mexico of the above in the greatest confidence as soon as it is certain that there will be an outbreak of war with the United States, and suggest that the President of Mexico, on his own initiative, should communicate with Japan, suggesting adherence at once to this plan; at the same time offer to mediate between Germany and Japan.
Please call to the attention of the President of Mexico that the employment of ruthless submarine warfare now promises to compel England to make peace in a few months.
TO GERMAN MINISTER VON ECKHARDT,Mexico City.
In the President's Flag Day address, delivered at Washington on June 14, 1917, appeared the following:
They [meaning Germany] sought by violence to destroy our industries and arrest our commerce. They tried to incite Mexico to take up arms against us and to draw Japan into an hostile alliance with her; and that, not by indirection, but by direct suggestionfrom the Foreign Office at Berlin.
As the storm of ridicule and criticism of his policy of watchful waiting beat fiercely upon him, I often wondered if he felt the petty meanness which underlay it, or was disturbed or dispirited by it. As the unkind blows fell upon him, thick and fast from every quarter, he gave no evidence to those who were close to him of any irritation, or of the deep anger he must have felt at what appeared to be a lack of sympathy on the part of the country toward the idealistic policy in the treatment of Mexican affairs. Never for a single moment was he driven from the course he had mapped out for himself. He had given his heart and soul to a great humane task and he moved toward its consummation amid a hurricane of protests and criticisms.
There was a time, however, when I thought he displayed chagrin and disappointment at the obstacles placed in his path in settling the affairs of Mexico. It was in a little speech delivered at the Brooklyn Navy Yard on the occasion of the burial of the Marines who fell at Vera Cruz. The following paragraph contained a note of sadness and even depression. Perhaps, in the following words, he pictured his own loneliness and utter dejection:
I never went into battle; I never was under fire; but I fancy there are some things just as hard to do as to go under fire. I fancy that it is just as hard to do your duty when men are sneering at you as when they are shooting at you. When they shoot at you, they can only take your natural life; when they sneer at you, they can wound your living heart, and men who are brave enough, steadfast enough, steady in their principles enough, to go about their duty with regard to their fellow-men, no matter whether there are hisses or cheers, men who can do what Rudyard Kipling in one of his poems wrote, "Meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same," are men for a nation to be proud of. Morally speaking, disaster and triumph are imposters. The cheers of the moment are not what a man ought to think about, but the verdict of his conscience and of the consciences of mankind.