Ripper J. American Stories: Living American History. Volume 2: From 1865
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AMERICAN STORIES
68
in turn endure a robust war. Now at the helm of the U.S. Navy as its assistant
secretary, Roosevelt implemented Mahan’s lesson by pushing for the navy to
be enlarged and, even more important, modernized. In 1898, Roosevelt had
the chance to test his and Mahan’s ideas.
Resting less than 100 miles to the south of Florida was one of the last
remnants of the decrepit Spanish empire: Cuba. Rich in sugar and tobacco,
Cuba provided the tottering Spanish monarchy with some of its only reliable
revenue and with its last claim to greatness, a lonely vestige of a once-vast
domain. But for more than three decades, the Cuban people had been rest-
l
ess subjects, disaffected by their lack of independence while all around
them their Spanish-speaking neighbors in South and Central America tore
off the yoke of Spanish overlordship and proclaimed freedom. From 1868
to 1878, Cuban mambises, revolutionary fighters, struggled against Spanish
troops,
and the warfare ended in never-fulfilled Spanish promises to give the
Cubans greater autonomy. The cry of Cubans to exert self-determination, to
govern themselves, yielded outpourings of sympathy in the United States,
where incantations of freedom always sounded good. During the 1880s
and early 1890s, a Cuban intellectual named José Martí lived in New York,
writing articles for Spanish-language newspapers generally favorable to the
United States. Martí’s relationship with the United States inaugurated what
has become more than a century-long affair between Cuban dissidents and
Americans wanting to change Cuba’s government. Beyond the ideological
and moral pull of the Cuban cause, there was also approximately $50 million
invested in Cuba by American businessmen, 50 million reasons to make sure
the island’s economy did not deteriorate. In 1894, new tariffs in the United
States made it difficult for Cuban sugar to compete in the U.S. market, which
in turn threw Cuba’s economy topsy-turvy. Hard times stirred up simmering
political problems, and a truce between Cuban rebels and Spanish officials
ended in fighting. Martí sailed to Cuba in 1895, where he died within two
weeks, the victim of a small and meaningless skirmish.
A
t first, outgoing president Grover Cleveland merely issued a statement of
American neutrality, followed near the end of his term by a warning to Spain
that if the war continued, the United States might intervene on behalf of the
Cubans. Later Cleveland became part of the anti-imperialist group, opposed
to any territorial acquisitions in the Atlantic or Pacific. Under President Wil-
liam
McKinley, who took office in March 1897, the United States watched
the war in Cuba with increasingly vigilant interest. McKinley had a variety
of considerations on his mind. He was a Civil War veteran, wary of enter-
ing
into any conflict that could lead to the bloodshed he had participated in
thirty years earlier. There was also a domestic, amorphous opposition to any
imperialist expansion, voiced by enough popular Americans (from Mark
69
THE U.S. GOVERNMENT
Twain to Jane Addams) to make McKinley worry that a battle with Spain
could cost him the 1900 election. But Spain made it easy for Americans to
sympathize with the Cuban people. Spain’s military, though outdated by the
standards of Britain and Germany, had more resources and firepower than
the Cuban revolutionaries could muster, so the Cubans turned to hit-and-run
tactics, first called “guerrilla warfare” in the early 1800s. Spain responded by
forcing villagers into enclosed encampments in order to separate the civilian
populace from the rebel fighters, the two groups being difficult to distinguish
from each other. This reconcentrado policy of concentrating civilians in what
turned out to be cramped and filthy conditions caused more than 200,000
deaths, almost entirely by starvation and disease. A few journalists writing
for William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer—two wealthy New York
newspapermen—sensationalized the mayhem, further aggravating the anti-
Spanish mood of the American public. In fact, Pulitzer’s New York W
orld
and Hearst’s New York Journal provided enough damning stories of Spanish
misbehavior to be partly responsible for the declaration of war against Spain
in April 1898.
Magazines and journals had been selling well for three quarters of a cen-
tury
. The majority of them—like Godey’s Lady’s Book, begun in 1830—had
been addressed to and purchased by women, the first indication that women
could set a national agenda, if not on voting day then through the power of
the purse. Newspaper sales had been brisk since colonial days, but the advent
of the corporate business structure, improved printing technologies, and the
telegraph permitted men like Hearst and Pulitzer to deliver timely coverage at
an affordable price. Hearst was a California boy who learned the trade work-
ing
in New York for Pulitzer’s World. In 1895, Hearst borrowed money from
his millionaire father, bought the limping New York Journal, and started to
publish the same mixture of civic-minded exposés and entertainment pieces
offered by Pulitzer, but for the low price of one penny a paper. Hearst had to
lower the price in order to compete with Pulitzer’s reach and style. One of
Joseph Pulitzer’s first successes appeared in the form of a sleuthing adventur-
ess named Nellie Bly
.
Born Elizabeth Cochrane, she adopted the pen name Nellie Bly (taken
from a Stephen Foster song) in order to shield her real identity from Pitts-
bur
gh readers, a common gender subterfuge in an era when women’s opin-
ions
were considered fit for polite conversation, not necessarily for serious
journalistic discourse. Bly’s undercover investigations into child labor and
hazardous conditions in local steel mills got her reassigned to the theater
beat at the Pittsburgh Dispatch once the owners of those mills threatened to
remove their advertising dollars. To avoid the doldrums of writing about stage
lighting, Bly set off for Mexico in search of more exciting material. Within
AMERICAN STORIES
70
months, Mexican authorities chased Bly out of Mexico for her pieces on
political corruption and exploitation of labor. All this moral gallivanting by a
trim, button-nosed woman in her twenties attracted the admiration of Joseph
Pulitzer’s chief editor, who hired her to write for the New York World without
restrictions—but only after she had proven her skills by going undercover
to the women’s mental asylum on Blackwell’s Island. She delivered herself
to the asylum under hysterical pretenses, experienced the unconscionable
treatment of the patients, and wrote an exposé for Pulitzer’s paper. In 1889,
inspired by the fantasy writer Jules Verne, Bly took an express trip around
the world, trying to make it in less than eighty days, a tip of the lady’s hat to
the title of Verne’s novel, Around the World in Eighty Days. Bly crossed the
globe in seventy-two days, six hours, eleven minutes, and fourteen seconds,
and her enthusiastic employer, Pulitzer, publicized the whole affair through
his newspaper by getting people to bet on the time it would take Bly to get
home. More than 1 million fans signed up for the guessing contest, which
did wonders for his paper’s circulation. And adoring crowds greeted Nellie
upon her triumphal return. Pulitzer and Hearst demonstrated the new reach
of newspapers in their ability to inspire mental asylum reforms (passed by
New York after Bly’s articles on Blackwell’s Island), political house cleaning,
and sporting devotion to Bly’s obvious publicity stunt. The reading public
was easily manipulated, and with more than two-thirds of New York City’s
nearly 3 million people buying at least one newspaper every week, an astute
publisher with an agenda could lead the public down a variety of paths, even
one leading to war with Spain. As the Cuban insurrection against Spanish rule
intensified, Pulitzer and Hearst sent journalists to live with the mambises and
to
send back whatever outrageous stories they could uncover or concoct. One
story about a mishandled damsel rotting in a Cuban prison galvanized readers’
feelings, as did the rousing story of her rescue by a Hearst reporter who rented
an apartment next to the prison, stretched a ladder from his open window to
her barred window, hacked away the bars, and carried her to safety.
While the heavy-handedness of Spain in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the
Philippines offered the American public enough examples of wrongdoing to
generate war fever, Hawaii was another matter. In 1893, a small contingent
of white sugar planters with close ties to the United States deposed Queen
Liliuokalani, the last Hawaiian ruler in a dynasty stretching back to 1810,
when the islands had unified under one king rather than continuing as autono-
mous
regions led by chiefs. In 1820, missionary families—mainly from New
England—had crossed the Pacific to Hawaii and begun their preaching and
teaching work. As the children and grandchildren of these first missionaries
grew to maturity, the islands’ native inhabitants died in the thousands from the
same diseases that had been decimating indigenous populations throughout
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THE U.S. GOVERNMENT
the Americas for 300 years. At the same time, sugar became Hawaii’s gold.
By the 1850s, too few native Hawaiians were left alive to farm all the rattling
fields of sugarcane, so major landowners—mainly the descendants of the
original missionaries—imported low-paid workers, first from China and then
Japan. In 1876, the Hawaiian sugar industry received a boost by the removal
of trade barriers with the United States, which spread sugar culture that much
farther into the islands. The white landowning families gained more influ-
ence
and power with every cane stalk that sprouted. King David Kalakaua,
Liliuokalani’s brother, built a lavish palace festooned with electric lights,
which cost just about the same amount as the rest of the palace. Decked out in
a British military coat complete with epaulets, his face wreathed with bushy,
American-style muttonchop whiskers, King Kalakaua intended to show that
Hawaiians could be both traditional and modern. But his insistence on na-
tive
rule and native rights appealed very little to sugar magnates like Sanford
Dole, a direct descendant of the 1820 missionaries. Meanwhile, Kalakaua’s
sister was living in the United States and Europe, receiving the best education
available and attending such highbrow affairs as the fiftieth celebration of
Queen Victoria’s reign, the Golden Jubilee—the same bash at which Buffalo
Bill and Annie Oakley performed. While Liliuokalani was shaking hands
with the grande dame of England, her brother, King Kalakaua, was coerced
into signing a new constitution, dubbed the “Bayonet Constitution,” which
stripped about 75 percent of the remaining native Hawaiians of their voting
rights, among other indignities. Kalakaua died in 1891, and Liliuokalani suc-
ceeded
to the throne, from which she attempted to promulgate yet another
constitution, one that would return power to her hands and to the hands of
her people. Two years later, in a revolt led by Sanford Dole and tacitly sup-
ported
by the U.S. Marines (who came ashore but did not engage in any
fighting), Queen Liliuokalani was overthrown. Decrying the involvement of
the marines, who had been ordered into action by the U.S. minister on the
scene, President Grover Cleveland insisted that Liliuokalani be returned to
power. Instead, the members of the so-called Committee of Safety who had
deposed the Queen made Sanford Dole president of the Republic of Hawaii.
(Sanford was cousin to James Dole, who made a fortune in the early 1900s
turning pineapples into gold.)
While
the United States and Spain inched closer to war, men like Assistant
Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roosevelt continued to call for annexation
of Hawaii, which Roosevelt thought was an essential jewel to pluck. By late
1897, he worried that if the United States did not annex Hawaii, some other
world power would do so, and the United States would lose its chance to
establish coaling stations and fresh supplies of water for its ships on the way
to the increasingly important Far East. Explosive events in Havana harbor on
AMERICAN STORIES
72
February 15, 1898, sparked a war with Spain and the start of more than 100
years of direct U.S. military involvement all around the world, including the
quick annexation of Hawaii.
Theodor
e Roosevelt, Part 2: Of Rough Riders, Talking Softly,
and Carrying a Big Stick
C
ecil Spring-Rice, a British diplomat and close friend of Theodore Roosevelt’s,
once privately commented to a friend, “You must remember that the president
is about six.”
9
The gibe was meant lovingly, but it conveyed a great insight
into Roosevelt’s character: he would act in politics and war with the same
ungovernable glee any wound-up boy might bring to a good game of tag or
cowboys and Indians. Roosevelt’s gang of six children took their cues from
their father. When Roosevelt gave his son Theodore Jr., age nine, a first rifle
and Theodore Jr. wanted to know if it shot real bullets, Roosevelt loaded one
and shot it into the ceiling of their Long Island home, Sagamore Hill. The
children in their turn peppered the side of an outbuilding with bullets and
pocked their father’s prized swimsuit with holes. They also sneaked a pony
into the White House and once snuffed out city gas streetlamps right after
they had been lit. Roosevelt expected his children to walk the line between
seeking attention for its own sake and bucking meaningless social conven-
tions,
regardless of what attention might ensue. His eldest daughter, Alice,
smoked cigarettes publicly, and when President Roosevelt was notified that
she sometimes smoked on the roof of the White House, he responded, “I can
run the country or I can control Alice, I cannot do both.”
10
This adoring father
who lavished his children with presents and love was also an ardent believer
in the unique destiny of the United States, absolutely certain that the white
race, and the United States in particular, needed to remain strong in order to
remain civilized. He expected people to have fun and saw much worthwhile
adventure in both a bear hunt and a timely war, but he also expected his
children, himself, and the nation to behave responsibly, a charge not easily
maintained in drawn-out combat.
A
few months into his job with the navy, Roosevelt wrote a letter to Cecil
Spring-Rice that was typical of his ideas about race, liberal politics, and the
need for martial manliness as applied to domestic and foreign policy. “The
one ugly fact all over the world,” Roosevelt intoned with naked chauvinism,
“is the diminution of the birth rate among the highest races,” namely the
English-speaking white people of the United States and Britain. Roosevelt
did not want the United States or any other place on earth to be overrun by the
“savage” races. Even so, the United States had its problems: “As for my own
country . . . We are barbarians of a certain kind, and what is most unpleasant
73
THE U.S. GOVERNMENT
we are barbarians with a certain middle-class, Philistine quality of ugliness
and pettiness, raw conceit, and raw sensitiveness.” The trick to remaining
morally upright and potent was to stay away from too much raw barbarity
and too much effete liberalism. “Where we get highly civilized,” he wrote,
“as in the northeast, we seem to become civilized in an unoriginal and inef-
fective
way, and tend to die out.”
11
What could save the United States from
an excess of civilization, from becoming weak and degenerate? Roosevelt
had just the cure.
W
riting to William Kimball, a naval officer, Roosevelt said that going to
war against Spain would be humanitarian: more of the Western Hemisphere
could be wrested away from European control. Better yet, since he was al-
w
ays worrying about the softening of American toughness, Roosevelt saw
war as a way to strengthen people, to distract them from thinking about
wealth, and to give the military some “practice.” War was practice for war
and a needed supplement to the ease afforded by modern conveniences.
Roosevelt got his wish.
On February 15, 1898, the battleship Maine blew up in Havana harbor,
killing
260 crewmembers, nearly the whole complement. The United States
had positioned the Maine off the edge of Cuba as a warning to Spain: the
United
States was seriously willing to use military force to stop the Spanish
from killing more Cubans in what was obviously a tired battle for a vanished
empire right in the backyard of the United States. The captain of the Maine,
Charles
Sigsbee, urged caution in assessing the cause of the explosion (most
likely accidental), yet newspapers like Hearst’s New York Journal and Sac-
r
amento Examiner provocatively announced on the 17th, “Maine Blown to
Bits
By Torpedo.” This Hearst-approved war whoop had been preceded ten
days earlier in his papers by the translated publication of a rude letter penned
by Spain’s U.S. ambassador, Enrique de Lome, who had called President
McKinley “weak and catering to the rabble, and besides a low politician
who desires to . . . stand well with the jingoes of his party.”
12
On April 4,
Hearst ordered 1 million copies of the Journal to be printed, calling for an
immediate declaration of war on Spain. That the United States declared war
on Spain on April 25, 1898, is not surprising. It is, however, surprising that
it took so long given the affront to national honor, the assumption that Spain
had torpedoed the Maine, and the bugle blaring for action in Hearst’s papers
on the east and west coasts.
Roosevelt
was delighted. Now he could have his war. He resigned as as-
sistant
secretary of the navy and raised a volunteer regiment dubbed “The
Rough Riders,” in honor of Bill Cody’s troupe, “The Congress of Rough
Riders.” Before setting off to fight, Roosevelt exceeded his authority by is-
suing
a directive to the commander of the Pacific fleet, Commodore George
AMERICAN STORIES
74
Dewey: “Order the squadron . . . to Hong Kong. Keep full of coal. In the event
of declaration of war [with] Spain, your duty will be to see that the Spanish
squadron does not leave the Asiatic coast.”
13
Dewey complied, taking along
an exiled Filipino, Emilio Aguinaldo, the Filipino mirror of the Cuban José
Martí—two men driven to free their people. Aguinaldo trusted the United
States to help.
The Spanish-American
War and the War Against
Filipino Nationalism
S
pain did not stand a chance, and her generals knew it. But they fought anyway,
briefly. The Spanish-American War lasted all of eight months, only half that
time with any large-scale combat. By December 10, 1898, Spain had signed
a peace agreement ceding the Philippines, Cuba, Guam, and Puerto Rico to
the United States, in return for $20 million. Guam and Puerto Rico, accord-
ing
to U.S. designs, were intended to remain dependent territories, arguably
part of the United States without any direct representation—shadow states.
As for Cuba, in April 1898, Congress issued a resolution, dubbed the Teller
Amendment, stipulating that the United States had no territorial ambitions
in Cuba. Congress determined “to leave the government and control of the
island to its people.”
14
However, the fate of the Philippines was from the outset
much less established, due in part to three factors: first, the speed of events
leading up to war, which precluded consensus within society or government;
second, roiling debates within the United States concerning the desirability
of acquiring either an empire or, perhaps instead, new states in distant places;
and third, the attitudes of Filipinos.
O
n May 1, Commodore Dewey’s fleet blasted, sank, and disabled the entire
Spanish Philippine squadron—in one four-hour battle. On July 25, U.S. troops
landed in the Philippines to fight alongside the revolutionary forces under
control of Emilio Aguinaldo’s self-declared independent republic. On August
13, the U.S. military betrayed the Filipinos. Arrayed outside of Manila, the
largest city in the archipelago, Filipino fighters planned to stage joint opera-
tions
with the U.S. military, but instead the American and Spanish generals
worked out a secret plan. A mock fight was staged, with some mortar and rifle
fire coming from U.S. lines. Spanish forces in Manila immediately hoisted a
white flag, and the “conquering” American forces entered the city peacefully.
They kept the Filipino fighters out. Soon, Dewey labeled Aguinaldo’s fighters
“undisciplined insurgents.”
15
The Spanish-American War was effectively over,
but the Philippine-American War was just about to begin.
With the Spanish military presence removed from the Philippines, local
congressional representatives, calling themselves the Malolos Congress,
75
THE U.S. GOVERNMENT
began meeting in September, and they finished writing the constitution for
the First Philippine Republic in late November. President McKinley refused
to recognize their government or their legitimacy. On December 10, Spain
sold the Philippines to the United States for $20 million, and by the end of
the month, McKinley ordered that force be used to subdue any indigenous
opposition to the new American regime. Full Filipino independence turned out
to be no more substantial than a broken promise. As a measure of American
territorial fever, Commodore Dewey got promoted to rear admiral in 1898,
and he enjoyed celebrity throughout the nation. In fact, Dewey’s popularity
lagged behind that of only one other man at the time: Lieutenant Colonel
Theodore Roosevelt, who by the end of 1898 had established himself as the
hero of the fight in Cuba.
Theodore Roosevelt, Part 3: From Lieutenant Colonel
to Pr
esident
The U.S. military was not really prepared for war in April 1898. Most uniforms
were heavy wool, having been made for winter campaigns. These were the
uniforms worn by soldiers preparing to ship out from Florida, heading to Cuba
at the start of the summer. A Frenchman had invented smokeless gunpowder
in 1886, but it was not usable in American rifles. Theodore Roosevelt and his
friend, Colonel Leonard Wood, assembled their Rough Riders in Texas and
then relocated to Tampa, Florida, along with some media specialists equipped
with new, mobile motion-picture cameras. Roosevelt knew fame waited ninety
miles, the length of a gun barrel, and some motion pictures away. Yet he did
not want to openly admit to others his longing for glory. In mid-April, he
wrote to his sister Corinne’s husband, Douglas Robinson, a good friend, “If
I went [to Cuba], I shouldn’t expect to win any military glory.” Instead, he
intended “to act up” to the warlike “preaching” he had been doing for two
years. “I have a horror,” Roosevelt wrote, “of the people who bark but don’t
bite.”
16
Whether his float-along cameramen or his letter to Douglas Robinson
ought to be used as evidence of Roosevelt’s aspiration to catch the nation’s
eye, catch that eye he did.
On
July 1, 1898, Roosevelt led the Rough Riders up Kettle Hill, part of
the larger Battle of San Juan Hill. The previous day, a hot air balloon had
hovered over the hills long enough for its signal corps occupants to spy a
good path. According to Richard Harding Davis, a reporter on the scene
who technically worked for Joseph Pulitzer but who acted like Roosevelt’s
personal publicist, “over their heads the balloon was ascending for the first
time and its great glistening bulk hung just above the tree tops, and the men
in different regiments, picking their way along the trail, gazed up at it open-
AMERICAN STORIES
76
mouthed.” That night, Davis described how “the tropical moon hung white
and clear in the dark purple sky, pierced with millions of white stars,” and the
troops stayed awake late, realizing that saying “good night” would only be a
“gentle farce.”
17
On the morning of July 1, American soldiers marched into
position at the bases of various hills, each with Spanish soldiers dug in at the
top, armed with smokeless rifles, harder to pinpoint and more accurate than the
U.S. weapons. The balloon went up again, but only managed to draw heavy
Spanish fire. Shrapnel rained down on the troops, and the balloon, riddled
with bullets, sank. All was confusion, and finally the regimental officers on
the line were given total command of their troops. Roosevelt’s men charged
alongside the Ninth Cavalry, a segregated black regiment often called “Buf-
falo
Soldiers”—many had fought against Plains Indians and Apaches in the
preceding decades. Together the Buffalo Soldiers and Roosevelt’s oddball
mixture of Ivy Leaguers, ranch hands, and sportsmen left the trenches next
to the eponymous kettle they had found at the base of their hill. Men dropped
from gunfire and heat exhaustion; one out of six lay dead or wounded by day’s
end. Fearing that the heat of running up the hill might take him otherwise,
Roosevelt chose to stay on his horse—making him an easy target. The soldiers
made it to the top of the hill, cut through barbed wire, and sent the remaining
Spanish into a retreat.
T
heodore Roosevelt swept home in the national spotlight, his exploits
having been trumpeted by Hearst’s and Pulitzer’s reporters. As Richard Hard-
ing
Davis, in typically adulatory fashion, recalled the charge up Kettle Hill,
“Roosevelt, mounted high on horseback, and charging the rifle-pits at a gallop
and quite alone, made you feel that you would like to cheer.”
18
Roosevelt’s
family visited him and the Rough Riders at their final camp on Long Island, and
the boys even got to sleep with their father in his tent (leaving him to snooze
on the table). Fame led to election in 1900 as governor of New York, where
he ruffled so many state politicians’ feathers by shooing away incompetence
and graft that he was prompted to accept the vice presidential nomination as
William McKinley’s running mate. They won, and Roosevelt unexpectedly
became president half a year later when a self-styled anarchist named Leon
Czolgosz shot McKinley. On September 14, 1901, Theodore Roosevelt took
the oath of office.
His years as president of the United States heralded the next stage in the
expansion of the federal government. Theodore Roosevelt championed the
American system of republican capitalism at home and abroad. He would see
to it that neither left-leaning labor leaders nor power-mad moneymen would
be allowed free rein in the United States. Second-rate nations in the Western
Hemisphere would be similarly watched over by the United States, their af-
fairs
adjusted by military interventions when deemed necessary. The legacy
77
THE U.S. GOVERNMENT
of Roosevelt’s upbringing became the legacy he left to the United States:
benevolent-minded leaders were to become the guardians of American virtue,
through the force of mind preferably, but through force of arms when other
methods failed. Government, in Roosevelt’s opinion, was an indispensable
component of American and world society.
Notes
1. Theodore Roosevelt, An Autobiography (New York: Macmillan, 1913), 462.
2. For a beautiful and fuller treatment of Theodore Roosevelt’s childhood and
young-adult years, read David McCullough, Mornings on Horseback: The Story of
an Extraordinary Family, a Vanished Way of Life and the Unique Child Who Became
Theodore Roosevelt (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2001).
3. Roosevelt, Autobiography, 12.
4
. Maurice Garland Fulton, ed., Roosevelt’s Writings: Selections from the Writings
of Theodore Roosevelt (New York: Macmillan, 1920), 248.
5. Roosevelt, Autobiography, 14.
6. Roosevelt, Autobiography, 63.
7.
Theodore Roosevelt, The Works of Theodore Roosevelt (New York: Scribner,
1910), x.
8
. Theodore Roosevelt, Campaigns and Controversies (Whitefish, MT: Kessinger,
2005), 247–248.
9. Edmund Morris, Theodore Rex (New York: Modern Library, 2002), 81.
1
0. Alice Roosevelt Longworth, Mrs. L.: Conversations with Alice Roosevelt
Longworth (New York: Doubleday, 1981).
1
1. Theodore Roosevelt, Theodore Roosevelt: Letters and Speeches (New York:
Library of America, 2004).
12. Thomas E. Morrissey, Donegan and the Splendid Little War (Philadelphia:
Xlibris, 2002), 150.
1
3. W.H. Brands, The Reckless Decade: America in the 1890s (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1995), 324.
14. Brands, The Reckless Decade, 315.
15.
Walter Millis, The Martial Spirit: A Study of Our War with Spain (Cambridge:
Riverside, 1931), 354.
16.
Corinne Roosevelt Robinson, My Brother Theodore Roosevelt (New York:
Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1921), 162.
17. Richard Harding Davis, Notes of a War Correspondent (New York: Charles
Scribner’s Sons, 1912), 81, 83.
18. Davis, Notes, 96.