The Rough Rider (20 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A Volunteer for Teddy

William Randolph Hearst was considered by some to be the most powerful man in America. He did not wield his power through political office. Rather, it was through the prolific pages of his widely circulated newspaper that he swayed not only the millions who read it throughout America, but also the politicians that both feared and envied the publisher.

Aaron’s first visit a few weeks back had been merely to drop off the article Hearst had asked him to write about the Yukon. The note he held in his hand was a request for a more formal meeting, requesting that he spend an hour with the newspaper tycoon.

Aaron had been surprised when he received another invitation to visit Hearst’s office. It had come through his uncle Mark, who had said that morning at breakfast, with his eyebrows raised in surprise, “Well, you’re moving in fast circles, Aaron.”

“What does that mean, Uncle Mark?”

“This note came yesterday from William Randolph Hearst. He wants to see you in his office today.”

“Me? What does he want with me?” asked Aaron as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Whatever it is—you can be sure it’s something that will benefit him. Although, I suppose, you can’t afford to turn down the invitation.” Mark buttered a piece of toast and crunched on it thoughtfully before he added, “It’s more in
the nature of a command performance than just a simple invitation. Hearst is like that, you know.”

Aaron leaned back in his chair, picked up his cup and sipped at his coffee, then asked abruptly, “You don’t like him, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Personally, I think he’s a menace. He purposely distorts the news, and he picks and chooses the violent sort of stories to print in his papers to whip up circulation. He’s just not a good newspaperman.”

Aaron grinned suddenly, his white teeth showing against his tan. “He’s a mighty successful one, though. I suppose I’d better go see him.”

“I expect it’s more about the Yukon. He liked that story that you wrote, didn’t you say?”

“So he said. He paid well for it anyhow—a hundred dollars for something that took less than two hours for me to write.”

“Well, go see him, then. What about Lewis? Have you had any success in talking some sense into him?” Mark stared at Aaron with a sort of urgency. “Davis and Belle are quite worried about him. Have you been able to sway him about going into the army?”

“No sense talking to him—he’s got his mind made up.”

“I was afraid it would be that way. Frankly, Aaron, I don’t know that anyone could dissuade him.”

Aaron finished his breakfast, and then rode into town with his uncle. He got out at the front of the imposing building that housed the
New York Journal,
the flagship for Hearst’s newspaper kingdom, and said cheerfully, “Maybe I can catch a ride back with you. I don’t think my interview with Hearst will take long. I’m tired of the Yukon, and I don’t know much about it anyway.”

“All right. Come by my office when you’re ready to go,” said Mark as he flicked the lines, and the carriage started down the street.

Aaron moved through the large doors and entered into the bustling, noisy world of a big-city newspaper. Wherever
he looked, nobody walked. Everyone ran as though they had forgotten
how
to walk. Somehow, Aaron was certain that not all the running was necessary. It was the charged ambience that did something to people. He had read a dime novel or two about the world of newspapers, and would not have been terribly surprised if someone had come rushing in, screaming, “Hold the press!” Nobody did, however, and he made his way to the second floor, where he found the office of William Randolph Hearst. It sat in one corner, occupying the full end of that floor. A small, supercilious man with a hairline mustache looked up disdainfully from a desk as Aaron approached. “I’d like to see Mr. Hearst,” Aaron said pleasantly.

“So would a lot of people.” The voice was almost a sneer, and with one finger the man caressed his mustache. He did that several times, as if he had to assure himself that it still existed. His eyes looked twice their size through the thick spectacles that perched on his wiry nose.

“I think he’s expecting me,” Aaron said mildly. The behavior of the clerk amused him. “He sent word to my uncle—Mr. Winslow, Vice President of the Union Pacific.”

“Oh, I see.” The clerk took one more loving stroke with his finger on the mustache, then said, “If you’ll wait here, I’ll see if Mr. Hearst can see you.” His voice sounded as though he were completely and totally certain that Mr. Hearst would do no such thing. And it was obvious to Aaron that the man enjoyed stopping anyone who dared to interrupt Mr. Hearst’s busy schedule. The clerk turned and minced his way through the door after knocking softly.

Aaron walked about the spacious office, noticing that the walls were ornamented with large pictures. They were all paintings of horses jumping over fences. Aaron studied one of them carefully and said aloud, “That fellow doesn’t know how to paint horses.” Then he heard the door close silently and turned.

“Mr. Hearst will see you.” The clerk seemed miffed and sat down and began writing on a sheet of paper.

Aaron passed through the door and found Hearst standing beside a window, staring down at the traffic. He turned at once, his pale eyes revealing nothing, though his lips turned up in a rather formal smile. “Well, Mr. Winslow—you got my message, then?”

“Yes, I did, Mr. Hearst. But if it’s about the Klondike—”

“No, no!” Hearst waved his hand airily, dismissing all of the gold rush with one gesture. “That’s taken care of. Sit down, won’t you?” He waited until Aaron took a seat in a large leather chair and said, “Actually, I have something quite different to talk to you about. I was having lunch with your uncle the other day, along with several other businessmen. Mark Winslow tells me that you have a brother who is going to fight in the war.”

“I’m afraid so!” said Aaron, wondering what Hearst wanted from him.”

“Afraid so?” Hearst raised his eyebrows and lifted his head. He had a long nose and long face, and now he raised his long fingers and laced them together. “Don’t you believe in the war?”

Diplomatically, Aaron said, “I just got back from the Yukon. All we heard there was that the battleship
Maine
got blown up and a lot of Americans were killed.”

“Oh, there’s more to it than that—much more, I assure you! And we’re going to do something about it, too. I’ve thrown every ounce of power of this newspaper into this business, and it’s rolling now like a juggernaut.”

“It seems so. Everywhere I go I hear gums flapping just to get the war started.”

“Exactly!” Hearst came over, leaned back on the walnut desk, crossed his arms, and stared down at Aaron. “Tell me about your brother,” he said abruptly.

Taken aback, Aaron gave a brief history of his family, adding, “Actually, my parents sent me to New York to talk Lewis out of joining the army.”

“And what does he say?”

“His mind’s made up. He’s going and that’s that!”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Hearst stood up straight, walked over to the window, and stared down for a few moments silently. Finally, he turned back and the grin on his face touched his eyes. “Would you like to go with him?”

“Go with him? Why, I have no idea of doing such a thing, Mr. Hearst!” said Aaron, surprised at the man’s sudden offer.

“I can tell you two reasons why you should,” said Hearst as he walked back to his desk.

“I’d like to hear them.”

Hearst held up one long forefinger and touched it, saying, “First, you can’t keep him from going, but if you go with him, at least as an older brother you can try to look out for him.”

Aaron stared at Hearst. “Well, I suppose that’s true. Although I’m not sure how much help I’d be.”

“At least you’d be there. I know how younger brothers are. Your uncle Mark told me that he’s quite an idealist. It’d be like him, Mark said, to go charging in with all guns blazing and get himself killed over some romantic idea of his.”

“That sounds like Lewis, all right,” Aaron admitted. He thought about it for a moment. It was an idea that had not occurred to him, but now that Hearst had mentioned it, somehow it seemed . . . right. “What’s the other reason?” he asked quickly.

“The other reason,” Hearst smiled, “is that you’re a young man who needs a job—and I have an offer to make to you.”

“You mean, working for the paper?”

“Exactly!” Hearst grew excited. “I’ve hired the finest talent in the world! The finest journalists from around the world are going to cover this war. Stephen Crane is going to be there—and Richard Harding Davis has an exclusive contract with my paper to go and report the news. Frederic Remington, the great artist, has accepted an offer to go and do sketches of the war. . .” Hearst went on, bending back his long fingers as he named the large group he had enlisted to cover the Spanish-American War. As he talked, a smug smile
of satisfaction settled on the man, who thoroughly enjoyed the power and influence he had to shape people’s lives to benefit his domain.

When Hearst slowed down, Aaron said in a puzzled tone, “Well, you certainly don’t need another reporter—which I’m not anyway!”

“Ah, but I want to touch every base! I want to portray every angle,” Hearst exclaimed. “Look here, Aaron! Those fellows I mentioned are all professional reporters, standing off somewhere a mile away when the action takes place. What I would like,” he said slowly, “is to have the story of the war told by someone right in the throw of it. A private—right where the actual shooting takes place. You see how exciting that could be! Why, everyone would read it!”

“Has it ever been done before?” asked Aaron, feeling drawn into the man’s excitement.

“I don’t know, but it’s going to be done now.” Hearst came to stand before Winslow, saying, “You’re
perfect
for the job. Your story about the Klondike—it was well written, factual, and very readable. That’s the kind of real-life story my readers want to read about.”

“I read your version of it—the one that was printed. It was much more exciting than the original,” Aaron remarked dryly.

“Oh, that—well, we have to remember that our readers need a bit of excitement. That’s what they thrive on. Anyway, what do you think of the idea? Will you accept my offer?”

Aaron straightened himself in his chair slowly and thought for a moment. He wasn’t an impetuous young man, but now the impulse to land a job with some adventure was very strong. Finally, he looked up and grinned. “Lewis is supposed to be the romantic one, but we’re talking about a salary, I suppose.”

“Yes, in addition to what you’ll get from your regular army pay. You’ll do it, then?”

“All right, I will! But from what I hear, it’s hard to get in.”

“That’s true. There are too many volunteers. Shows the
stuff our young Americans are made of! But I think I can help you with that.”

“Lewis is dying to join Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. I don’t suppose there’s a chance we can do that?”

“More than a chance! Teddy loves to be in the spotlight. He’d do anything for publicity. He’d love to have someone right beside him writing up his heroics for the American people. I’ve already thought of that,” Hearst smiled happily. “I’ll write him a letter of introduction, and you and your brother can deliver it to him personally. Roosevelt’s training his unit of men in San Antonio. Go find your brother and get down there as quickly as you can—I’ll see you get tickets on the train.”

“Do you really think he’ll let us in, Mr. Hearst?”

William Randolph Hearst stared at Aaron. A smile turned the edges of his thin lips upward in a smirk.

“Young man,” he proclaimed firmly, “that cowboy will do
anything
to get his picture in the paper!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

An Army Is Born

Its official designation was First Volunteer Cavalry Regiment, but the unit Teddy Roosevelt drew together was known to the public and the men involved as the Rough Riders. San Antonio, Texas, had become the mustering point for the regiment—partly because it was good country to buy horses.

Aaron and Lewis had arrived after a few sleepless nights on a train that had been jammed to capacity. Disembarking at the station, it had been simple enough to find their way to the camp, for everyone they met was talking about Teddy Roosevelt’s army. “They’re going to put the run on them Spaniards,” a scrawny station agent informed the two men when asked for directions. “Don’t think you fellows can get in, though. Everybody’s trying and nobody’s making it.”

Aaron, however, reached inside his coat and felt the weight of the letter from Hearst in his inner pocket. Aaron went out to the busy street to employ a carriage while Lewis gathered their bags. Throwing them in, he and Lewis then proceeded to the camp. “Look at that dust!” Lewis said with excitement as they approached the encampment. “Gosh, there must be a thousand horses running around!”

“I guess so,” Aaron said. When they’d paid the driver and set their bags on the ground, he stopped a sergeant, asking, “Where can I find Colonel Roosevelt?”

The sergeant, a tall, rawhide individual, studied them, and then answered with a careless, nasal Texas twang. “Right
down yonder,” he pointed. “You ain’t gonna miss ’im. He’s likely to be on a horse.”

So indeed they found Roosevelt riding a mottled brown-and-white horse. He was wearing a khaki army uniform that was wrinkled beyond recognition, and his brimmed hat was pinned up on one side in the fashion of a white African hunter. Aaron could see his white teeth flashing and hear his shrill voice rising over the sound of horses racing by. “Probably be hard to catch him not busy,” he said to Lewis. “Might as well brace up right now.”

Aaron marched over, accompanied by Lewis, ignoring the two lieutenants who glared at him. “I have a letter here, Colonel Roosevelt, from Mr. William Randolph Hearst of the New York
Journal.
”

Roosevelt settled his glasses more firmly on his nose and stared down at Aaron. “Hearst? Let me see it!” He grabbed the letter, tore open the envelope, and scanned it rapidly. When he glanced up, he looked the two men over carefully. “You know what this letter says?” he demanded.