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Authors: Kenneth Whyte
The Uncrowned King: The Sensational Rise of William Randolph Hearst (53 page)
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The journalistic animosities that had boiled up during the election campaign were spilling over into the Cuban file. Pulitzer attacked senator-elect Money’s reports as warmed-over Scovel. Hearst attacked the
Herald
as a pro-Spanish newspaper and suggested that Spain was “making better headway in this country against the Cuban insurgents than she is in Cuba.”
22
The
Evening Post
called the
World
and the
Journal
“Cuban Junta newspapers” and blasted the
World
for continuing to insist that insurgent leader Antonio Maceo had been assassinated even after one of the
World
’s own correspondents had disproved the theory. The
Sun
cited its conservative peers as apologists for Spain and denounced their habit of first denying the truth of the reports of Spanish cruelty and then “insisting that it is a stern necessity.”
23
Herald
as a pro-Spanish newspaper and suggested that Spain was “making better headway in this country against the Cuban insurgents than she is in Cuba.”
22
The
Evening Post
called the
World
and the
Journal
“Cuban Junta newspapers” and blasted the
World
for continuing to insist that insurgent leader Antonio Maceo had been assassinated even after one of the
World
’s own correspondents had disproved the theory. The
Sun
cited its conservative peers as apologists for Spain and denounced their habit of first denying the truth of the reports of Spanish cruelty and then “insisting that it is a stern necessity.”
23
However loudly Hearst proclaimed that he was routinely beating “eminent exponents of the old journalism” to news, he obviously felt he had yet to put enough distance between himself and his competition.
24
His paper’s stance on Cuba was not especially distinct from that of the
World,
the
Sun,
or even the
Tribune,
and rival correspondents were often matching and sometimes beating the
Journal
’s reporting. Thus, in December 1896, Hearst quietly hired Richard Harding Davis and the artist Frederic Remington at fees of $3,000 apiece, plus expenses. The plan was to spirit the duo aboard the
Vamoose
to rebel-held territory, where they would spend a month traveling with the insurgents.
25
24
His paper’s stance on Cuba was not especially distinct from that of the
World,
the
Sun,
or even the
Tribune,
and rival correspondents were often matching and sometimes beating the
Journal
’s reporting. Thus, in December 1896, Hearst quietly hired Richard Harding Davis and the artist Frederic Remington at fees of $3,000 apiece, plus expenses. The plan was to spirit the duo aboard the
Vamoose
to rebel-held territory, where they would spend a month traveling with the insurgents.
25
Davis’s fame made his assignment an event in itself, and he had the talent and authority to augment the
Journal
’s voice and extend its audience rather than duplicate the efforts of beat reporters. Hearst was taking a risk, however. Assigning Davis to football matches and coronations was easy. While the
Journal
took a professional interest in covering such events well, they were one-day wonders. Hearst considered Cuba the greatest moral and political issue facing America, yet he was handing it over to a high-profile writer who by temperament and politics was incompatible with his paper.
Journal
’s voice and extend its audience rather than duplicate the efforts of beat reporters. Hearst was taking a risk, however. Assigning Davis to football matches and coronations was easy. While the
Journal
took a professional interest in covering such events well, they were one-day wonders. Hearst considered Cuba the greatest moral and political issue facing America, yet he was handing it over to a high-profile writer who by temperament and politics was incompatible with his paper.
Hearst and Davis did have a few things in common. They were tall, attractive men of roughly the same age. Both were raised by ambitious and overweening mothers. Both had been noted in university more for their wardrobes than for their grades. Both loved spectacle and the theater (indeed, both would marry showgirls). Beyond that, they couldn’t have been more different. Hearst, though the son of a senator, championed America’s hustling spirit and egalitarian ethics. Davis, the son of a Philadelphia editor and the writer Rebecca Harding Davis, would have killed for what Hearst was throwing away. He was anxious to meet the best people and to join the best clubs. He affected English manners and customs: tweeds and khakis, clarets and cigars, and a vaguely aristocratic drawl. He firmly believed the bathtub to be the dividing line between civilization and barbarism. Some thought him “a prig, a snob, an affected little ass.” (Asked his first name by a new acquaintance, Davis replied, “Mister.”)
26
It is clear, however, that most people in the circles to which Davis aspired were impressed by him. In many ways, he was the son Phoebe Hearst had always wanted.
26
It is clear, however, that most people in the circles to which Davis aspired were impressed by him. In many ways, he was the son Phoebe Hearst had always wanted.
Davis was an unabashed elitist. He pronounced democracy a failure and derided popular causes. He disparaged the world of commerce and its new creature, the businessman. He joined the entire New York establishment in supporting the McKinley Republicans. Davis’s elitism was also evident in his professional life. He aligned himself with the most reputable publishing houses and magazines. He was especially proud of his association with
Harper’s Weekly
and its top-drawer audience. He saw it as his job to defend the established social order and to inform and comfort its leadership—one paper called him “the prose laureate of the snobocracy.” After his initial enthusiasm for Hearst’s paper, Davis had gained a clearer sense of its thoroughly democratic outlook and turned against it. Upscale and conservative sheets such as the
Tribune
and
Herald
were more his style, but they were not hiring big-name writers at fat fees. And there was Davis’s problem: he needed his fat fees.
27
Harper’s Weekly
and its top-drawer audience. He saw it as his job to defend the established social order and to inform and comfort its leadership—one paper called him “the prose laureate of the snobocracy.” After his initial enthusiasm for Hearst’s paper, Davis had gained a clearer sense of its thoroughly democratic outlook and turned against it. Upscale and conservative sheets such as the
Tribune
and
Herald
were more his style, but they were not hiring big-name writers at fat fees. And there was Davis’s problem: he needed his fat fees.
27
As the
Book Buyer
noted, Richard Harding Davis was a man “addicted to double-breasted waistcoats, patent leather boots, twice-around ties, trousers turned up at the bottom, and all other things which make anything but great affluence quite intolerable.”
28
His mother, during one of his recent European excursions, had been shocked on opening his mail to discover his enormous debts for dinners, gifts, and furnishings. He was constantly outrunning his means. He could not support his ostentatious lifestyle without stooping to write for the likes of Hearst. He blamed the popular publishers rather than himself for his degradation. He howled at their crass promotion of him, whined that he was being used for his name, but took their cash all the same.
Book Buyer
noted, Richard Harding Davis was a man “addicted to double-breasted waistcoats, patent leather boots, twice-around ties, trousers turned up at the bottom, and all other things which make anything but great affluence quite intolerable.”
28
His mother, during one of his recent European excursions, had been shocked on opening his mail to discover his enormous debts for dinners, gifts, and furnishings. He was constantly outrunning his means. He could not support his ostentatious lifestyle without stooping to write for the likes of Hearst. He blamed the popular publishers rather than himself for his degradation. He howled at their crass promotion of him, whined that he was being used for his name, but took their cash all the same.
The
Journal
’s Cuba assignment was doubly welcome to Davis as an opportunity to redeem a personal humiliation. Like many young men of his or any other generation, he had been ambitious since youth to see a war. When several reporters of his acquaintance dashed off to cover the Sino-Japanese conflict in 1894, Davis was determined to follow. It was a big war, and it involved Japan—a country that had fascinated him since Gilbert and Sullivan’s
The Mikado
had toured the United States in 1885. Davis signed with
Scribner’s
to write a series of articles on the conflict, with an eye to producing a book. He commanded a handsome fee, bought a complete war correspondent’s kit, and booked passage across the Pacific via Vancouver.
Journal
’s Cuba assignment was doubly welcome to Davis as an opportunity to redeem a personal humiliation. Like many young men of his or any other generation, he had been ambitious since youth to see a war. When several reporters of his acquaintance dashed off to cover the Sino-Japanese conflict in 1894, Davis was determined to follow. It was a big war, and it involved Japan—a country that had fascinated him since Gilbert and Sullivan’s
The Mikado
had toured the United States in 1885. Davis signed with
Scribner’s
to write a series of articles on the conflict, with an eye to producing a book. He commanded a handsome fee, bought a complete war correspondent’s kit, and booked passage across the Pacific via Vancouver.
On the eve of his departure for Japan, a group of friends staged a surprise farewell for Davis, decorating a room with Japanese lanterns and flower arrangements and dressing themselves in pigtails and silk robes. They hired six glamorous showgirls to dance in costumes from
The Mikado
and had them mince and bow when the guest of honor entered the room. Davis was touched, and he left New York by train the next day in a good frame of mind. By the time he hit Montreal, however, he was stricken with doubts. A few hours later, in Ottawa, he packed it in and returned home to redecorate his apartment. “I waited too long to be a war correspondent,” he wrote his brother, adding that he couldn’t face the three-week voyage to Tokyo and that he hoped some day to get a shot at another war, only closer to home. Cuba presented a perfect opportunity for Davis to erase painful memories of what he called his “retreat from Ottawa.”
29
The Mikado
and had them mince and bow when the guest of honor entered the room. Davis was touched, and he left New York by train the next day in a good frame of mind. By the time he hit Montreal, however, he was stricken with doubts. A few hours later, in Ottawa, he packed it in and returned home to redecorate his apartment. “I waited too long to be a war correspondent,” he wrote his brother, adding that he couldn’t face the three-week voyage to Tokyo and that he hoped some day to get a shot at another war, only closer to home. Cuba presented a perfect opportunity for Davis to erase painful memories of what he called his “retreat from Ottawa.”
29
Davis’s traveling companion, Frederic Sackrider Remington, was also anxious to test his abilities in a war zone. He dreamed of a grand European battle between massive armies, with enough pageantry and bloodshed to fill an acre of canvas. So far he had settled for a few scrappy Indian fights and the Pullman strike of 1894. His hopes for real action were now pinned on Cuba.
Notwithstanding Davis’s enormous fame, the
Journal
granted Remington equal billing in all its promotions, with good reason. He was an established author and sculptor, the nation’s leading illustrator of military and frontier life, and an outstanding visual journalist besides. A native of Canton, New York, Remington had studied at the new Yale School of Art before heading west. He spent five years beyond the Mississippi, traveling the Santa Fe and Oregon trails, working as a rancher, military scout, hunter, and trapper. He kept his eyes open as he moved, meticulously recording a disappearing way of life. “I knew the wild riders and the vacant land were about to vanish forever,” he later wrote, “ . . . and the more I considered the subject, the bigger the forever loomed.”
30
Journal
granted Remington equal billing in all its promotions, with good reason. He was an established author and sculptor, the nation’s leading illustrator of military and frontier life, and an outstanding visual journalist besides. A native of Canton, New York, Remington had studied at the new Yale School of Art before heading west. He spent five years beyond the Mississippi, traveling the Santa Fe and Oregon trails, working as a rancher, military scout, hunter, and trapper. He kept his eyes open as he moved, meticulously recording a disappearing way of life. “I knew the wild riders and the vacant land were about to vanish forever,” he later wrote, “ . . . and the more I considered the subject, the bigger the forever loomed.”
30
On his return east, Remington made his living in magazines, churning out thousands of pictures to supply the bottomless demand for views and information about life on the frontier. He was a fixture at
Harper’s
after 1886. Scrupulous about details, he transformed his studio into a museum of western artifacts—tools, costumes, weapons, animal skins. He drew hunters, trappers, Indians, lawmen, gunfighters, broncobusters, settlers, and horses. He specialized in thrilling scenes of action, with heroic individuals struggling against overwhelming forces. Some of the most enduring images of the Old West—the lone figure on horseback on a stark plain under a punishing sun—originate with Remington. The Victorian art establishment envied his commercial success and dismissed him as an illustrator rather than an artist, a verdict that stands today, although Remington did possess more talent and originality than many favorites of the academy.
Harper’s
after 1886. Scrupulous about details, he transformed his studio into a museum of western artifacts—tools, costumes, weapons, animal skins. He drew hunters, trappers, Indians, lawmen, gunfighters, broncobusters, settlers, and horses. He specialized in thrilling scenes of action, with heroic individuals struggling against overwhelming forces. Some of the most enduring images of the Old West—the lone figure on horseback on a stark plain under a punishing sun—originate with Remington. The Victorian art establishment envied his commercial success and dismissed him as an illustrator rather than an artist, a verdict that stands today, although Remington did possess more talent and originality than many favorites of the academy.
Davis and Remington made an odd couple. They were both paid-up members of the nineteenth-century cult of manliness but belonged to different branches entirely. In place of Davis’s cleanliness and parlor manners, Remington substituted an earthy machismo. In his younger days, he had been known to dip his football uniform in a pool of slaughterhouse blood before a big game. He enjoyed shooting and fishing and all things military (Nelson A. Miles, commanding general of the U.S. Army, was a hunting buddy). He liked to eat—“Fatty,” Mrs. Remington called him, and “my massive husband.” Even more, he liked to drink. On one visit to New York, he headed for the Players’ Club while his wife retired early to their hotel room. She was awakened at 2 a.m. by the repeated slamming of doors, beginning at the far end of the corridor and moving toward her. When her own door opened, there stood her sodden husband with an embarrassed porter in tow. “It’s all right,” said Remington. “This one’s my wife.”
31
When his indulgences caught up with him, he would head north to Canada or west to Montana to “sweat & stink and thirst & starve & paint.”
32
31
When his indulgences caught up with him, he would head north to Canada or west to Montana to “sweat & stink and thirst & starve & paint.”
32
Notwithstanding his occasional vulgarity and a long streak of racial chauvinism, Remington was one of very few journalists in 1896 sensitive to the price America would pay for any involvement in Cuba. As he wrote to his friend, the novelist Owen Wister, “I expect you will see a big war with Spain over here and will want to come back—and see some more friends die.
Cuba Libre.
It does seem tough that so many Americans have had to be and have still got to be killed to free a lot of d——niggers who are better off under the yoke. There is something fatefull [sic] in our destiny that way. This time however we will kill a few Spaniards instead of Anglo Saxons which will be proper and nice.”
33
Cuba Libre.
It does seem tough that so many Americans have had to be and have still got to be killed to free a lot of d——niggers who are better off under the yoke. There is something fatefull [sic] in our destiny that way. This time however we will kill a few Spaniards instead of Anglo Saxons which will be proper and nice.”
33
Wary of Spanish spies in Manhattan, Davis and Remington met at the
Journal
’s offices after dark on December 19, 1896. They were dressed for the occasion, Remington straining the seams on his canvas Duke of Marlborough field jacket, Davis wearing “a pseudo-military uniform with white hunter trimmings” (he’d had his picture taken in the outfit and released it for publication). He carried in his luggage “a new saddle, bridle, horse blanket, pad and two leather trunks designed to be made into a field bed.” Davis had also purchased, at the
Journal
’s expense, a fifty-dollar field glass, “which is a new invention,” he wrote home, “and the best made.”
34
He promised his mother that as soon as the shooting started, “I mean to begin to ride or run the other way—no one loves himself more than I do so you leave me to take care of myself.”
35
The furtive adventurers left the
Journal
’s offices in a closed hack and boarded a Florida-bound train.
Journal
’s offices after dark on December 19, 1896. They were dressed for the occasion, Remington straining the seams on his canvas Duke of Marlborough field jacket, Davis wearing “a pseudo-military uniform with white hunter trimmings” (he’d had his picture taken in the outfit and released it for publication). He carried in his luggage “a new saddle, bridle, horse blanket, pad and two leather trunks designed to be made into a field bed.” Davis had also purchased, at the
Journal
’s expense, a fifty-dollar field glass, “which is a new invention,” he wrote home, “and the best made.”
34
He promised his mother that as soon as the shooting started, “I mean to begin to ride or run the other way—no one loves himself more than I do so you leave me to take care of myself.”
35
The furtive adventurers left the
Journal
’s offices in a closed hack and boarded a Florida-bound train.
Davis and Remington were scheduled to meet the
Vamoose
in Key West. The yacht would drop the pair, along with medical supplies and nonmilitary aid (cargo permitted under the Neutrality Act), in the Santa Clara province of Cuba. They would be accompanied by two Cubans from the local Junta who would guide them to Gómez (a violation of Spanish law and dicey under the Neutrality Act). They planned to spend a month with the rebels, sending weekly files home via Michelson on the
Vamoose.
As Davis explained, “All we want to do is to get in and size Gómez up and see what sort of troops they have and listen to their stories and then get back here again quick take a special car home and draw out our 3,000 dollars and publish a book. If war comes between U.S. and Spain we will be able to speak with the authority at least of those who have been there.”
36
Vamoose
in Key West. The yacht would drop the pair, along with medical supplies and nonmilitary aid (cargo permitted under the Neutrality Act), in the Santa Clara province of Cuba. They would be accompanied by two Cubans from the local Junta who would guide them to Gómez (a violation of Spanish law and dicey under the Neutrality Act). They planned to spend a month with the rebels, sending weekly files home via Michelson on the
Vamoose.
As Davis explained, “All we want to do is to get in and size Gómez up and see what sort of troops they have and listen to their stories and then get back here again quick take a special car home and draw out our 3,000 dollars and publish a book. If war comes between U.S. and Spain we will be able to speak with the authority at least of those who have been there.”
36
Davis was as impressed with his transportation—“the most marvelous thing on the water”—as he was impatient to get moving. The ship’s engineer wasted a day by insisting on spending Christmas onshore, and then on Boxing Day, the
Vamoose
’s Newport-based crew, having heard one too many rumors of Spanish atrocities against captured filibusters, lost its nerve and had to be replaced. As the new crew made its training runs, the wind began to pick up, which delayed the crossing at least two more days. “I am ashamed to look people in the face,” Davis wrote home. “I have said ‘goodbye’ so often.”
37
Vamoose
’s Newport-based crew, having heard one too many rumors of Spanish atrocities against captured filibusters, lost its nerve and had to be replaced. As the new crew made its training runs, the wind began to pick up, which delayed the crossing at least two more days. “I am ashamed to look people in the face,” Davis wrote home. “I have said ‘goodbye’ so often.”
37
Still, Davis and Remington managed a tolerable existence in the interim. They would rise in the morning, take a swim in the bay, return to dress and eat breakfast, and sit on the hotel porch smoking huge Key West cigars while their boots were being polished. Evenings found them dining with the officers of a pair of U.S. Navy cruisers anchored at Key West.
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