After cabling their copy to New York, the
Journal
men replenished the
Sylvia
’s stores of ice, fruit, and fresh meats and returned to Cuba. It was a delightful passage on a gentle sea. All of the journalists and the ship’s crew, from cabin boy to captain, were invited to eat and drink, and an unexpected camaraderie infused the yacht. Billy Bitzer, the Biograph cameraman, said the “champagne and lively companionship” relieved tension and did wonders for the spirit. The Willson girls, “full of fun and laughter,” raced about the boat. They were dressed in male attire so as not to attract the attention of the sailors on the blockade. “We were in the delirious state of being under fire in war time,” wrote Bitzer, “and we got more friendly than we would have at home.”
83
When the
Sylvia
reached Santiago, the newsmen aboard wanted an update from the battleship
Texas.
Press boats, however, were prohibited from sailing amid the blockading vessels. A bribe of fresh bananas was offered and gratefully received and the
Journal
men were advised that a bombardment would begin at 8 a.m. The
Sylvia
scooted outside the lines as the
New York,
the
Indiana,
the
Texas,
the
Brooklyn,
the
New Orleans,
the
Massachusetts,
the
Iowa,
and the
Oregon
opened up on Morro Castle at the mouth of Santiago harbor from a range of 2,000 yards. Their fire was returned by Spanish shore batteries. Shells flew thick and fast. The noise was terrifying. The sky filled with sulfurous smoke. Hemment saw earth and stonework bursting skyward from the fortifications ashore. With shells whistling overhead, the
Sylvia
crept in closer to the action to give its various cameramen better angles. Hemment was in the bow of the vessel with his 11-by-14 camera, peering through the smoke in hopes of a clear shot:
We were cautioned once or twice to keep out of the line of fire, but, as we were determined to stay as long as we could, we let this advice go by unheeded until ordered peremptorily by one of the American captains to get out of the way.
At one time we were in danger of being hit ourselves, for several large shells landed quite close to our boat. One shell in particular, which seemed to be an eleven-inch shell, struck the water not more than one hundred yards from our starboard quarter, ricocheted, and passing over our ship, landed two hundred feet beyond us. It was then that we received the peremptory order to move away and get out of range at once. Mr. Hearst reluctantly ordered the captain of the
Sylvia
to pull out.
84
After the bombardment, Hemment left the
Sylvia,
returning to Siboney with a load of fruit and iced delicacies and a note from Creelman for Edward Marshall on the
Olivette.
He found the correspondent convalescing in a cot: “I approached with a feeling of tenderness and sympathy, as I knew the terrible ordeal through which he had passed. As soon as he saw me his face lit up with joy, and he bade me welcome. I told him I had a few small things for him, together with the note. He thanked me, and begged me to read the note to him, as it would distress him too much to move.” Creelman had written him as follows:
My dear Marshall: Cheer up, old man! I hear you have been trying to stop Spanish bullets, and were successful. I trust you have passed the worst, and that you may never again experience what you did in the battle with the Rough Riders at Las Guasimas. I trust you may have a speedy recovery. Keep up a good heart, and reserve the cot next to yours for me, as I may be with you before long. I am, etc.
85
To this point on his journey, Hearst had been content to watch and direct his correspondents as they went about their work. That was consistent with his role as editor, one he’d filled for a decade without ever turning his hand to reportage or commentary. Whether Hearst arrived in Cuba with an intention to act as his own correspondent or was pressed into action by Marshall’s incapacitation, the first story under his byline appeared in the June 29 edition:
It is satisfactory to be an American and to be here on the soil of Cuba, at the very threshold of what may prove to be the decisive battle of the war. The fight for possession of the City of Santiago and the capture of Cervera’s fleet seem to be only a few hours away, and from the top of the rough, green ridge where I write this, we can see dimly on the sea the monstrous forms of Sampson’s fleet lying in a semi-circle in front of the entrance to Santiago harbor, while here at our feet masses of American soldiers are pouring from the beach into the scorching valley, where smells of stagnant and fermented vegetation ground under the feet of thousands of fighting men rise in the swooning hot mists through which vultures that have already fed on corpses of slain Spaniards wheel lazily above the thorny, poisonous jungle.
Santiago and the Flower of the Spanish fleet are ours, although hundreds of men may have to die on the field before we take possession of them.
Neither Cervera’s crews nor General Linares’s battalions or squadrons can escape, for the American fleet bars the way by sea and our infantry and dismounted cavalry are gradually encircling the city, driving the Spanish pickets backward toward the tiers of trenches in which the defenders of the Spanish aggression must make their last stand.
. . . I have talked with [Sampson, Shafter, and Garcia], and each has assured me that victory is absolutely certain.
The piece ran close to 3,000 words, and aside from the personal note at the top, it was a fair-minded summary and analysis of the American position on the eve of what would indeed be the decisive battle of the war. Hearst is clearly impressed with the operation to date, calling it “almost a miracle” that Shafter landed 16,000 soldiers and all their supplies in “small boats through a rough surf on the steep dangerous beach, between ugly reefs in almost killing heat.” He even went so far as to reverse his criticism of President McKinley’s war strategy: “Now that I am here on the spot . . . I am satisfied that McKinley is right in deciding to attack Santiago rather than Havana.”
The conclusion of the article looks forward to a quick U.S. victory and expresses the hope, soon realized, that Washington would strip Spain of its major possessions: “It may be that the taking of this seaport and capture of what must be considered all that there is of an effective Spanish navy will induce the great powers of Europe to compel Spain to sue for peace, but every officer and every private in the American forces on land and sea hopes that no peace will be granted till the American flag is nailed to the flag staffs of Porto Rico and the Philippines—not simply hoisted there, but nailed.”
While Hearst largely kept himself out of his copy and was absent entirely from Hemment’s published photos, his editors in New York did not share his reserve. His article was followed a day later by several columns of front-page congratulations wrung by
Journal
reporters from statesmen and soldiers, including the commanding general of the U.S. Army, Nelson Miles, and Vice President Hobart, who suggested that Hearst’s presence in Cuba set a praiseworthy example for his fellow proprietors. Some of the applause for Hearst was even spontaneous: the
New York Times
allowed that “the editor and proprietor of the
Journal
of this city showed more than usually good judgment when he assigned Mr. W. R. Hearst to duty as a staff correspondent at the campaign of Gen. Shafter, with instructions to interview that grand old soldier and Admiral Sampson, and particularly Gen. Garcia. We do not know if the assignment was made in order to provide an object lesson to the other correspondents, but the copy turned out is notably superior to that which generally passes the censorship of the
Journal
telegraph desk. It is straightforward, clear, and readable, with the exception of a little nervousness at the start.”
86
After taking Las Guasimas, the Fifth Army had a clear run to within several miles of Santiago, setting up the major offensive of the Cuban campaign. On July 1, General Shafter intended to meet the Spaniards at their main line of resistance in the San Juan Heights, a set of low-lying hills commanding the eastern approach to Santiago. He hoped to claim the heights by midday and drive ahead to take Santiago before dinner. The sun would set with the United States in command of the harbor—the principal objective of Shafter’s expedition.
87
Before leaving the
Sylvia
for the grand battles he expected would decide the war, Hearst wrote a letter home, misleading his mother as to both his intentions and his safety:
Dear Mother: I am at the front and absolutely safe, so don’t worry. Since poor Marshall was shot the General has made strict rules limiting newspapermen to certain localities that are well within the lines so that there is no opportunity for any of us to get hurt even if we wanted to.
The landing of troops, guns and horses is most interesting and [the] march to the front very impressive. I have interviewed Admiral Sampson, General Shafter and General Garcia. The last named gave me his headquarters flag which has seen much service and is riddled by bullets. He said the Journal had been the most potent influence in bringing the United States to the help of Cuba and that they would always remember the Journal as a friend when friends had been very few. Now he said that they had many friends but ranked the Journal above all others.
I have been greatly interested in everything and of some service to the hospital ship providing them with ice and delicacies which they lacked. I think the standing of the paper will profit by me being here. Other proprietors are safely at home—and I will be soon. I hope you are well and not at all alarmed about me for honestly there is no occasion.
88
Frederic Remington wrote a similar letter before the assault on Santiago. Attached to the Sixth Cavalry, his experience of the war bore little resemblance to that of Hearst. Ill equipped and grossly overweight, he spent the week slogging on foot in the heat and mud, struggling to keep up with his regiment, before finally buying a horse from an ailing American officer. He shared his discomfort with his wife, Eva:
My dear Kid: . . . [We] are about 5 miles from Santiago and except the fight which the cavalry brigade had the other day the Spanish have not opposed us—I—Davis and [the novelist] John Fox went to within 2 miles or nearly 11/2 miles of Santiago yesterday on a reconnaissance—everything is quiet in and about the city—what one might call an ominous lull—
The first night ashore it rained and I slept all night wet. . . . I have an awful cold—and can’t get over it. . . .
John Fox and I sleep on the same blanket. We burn at Genl Chaffee mess—crackers, coffee and bacon—by God I haven’t had enough to eat since I left Tampa—I am dirty—oh so dirty. I have on a canvas suit and have 2 shirts—my other shirts as the boys call them—I have no baggage which I do not carry on my back—
I bought a horse and equipment from Col Benham 7
th
Inf for $150 gave my check last night—he goes home sick—so now I wont have to suffer—If I could get my hammock some cegar and a quart of whiskey I would be it. . . .
Hearst is at the port I understand I hope to get home soon—I hope I don’t get ten days quarantine either—Yours lovingly. . . .
89
Hearst, Hemment, Creelman, and Follansbee left the
Sylvia
by steam launch for Siboney well before dawn on the decisive day of July 1. The
Journal
’s headquarters had been appropriated for use as a hospital to accommodate the multitudes of feverish soldiers dropping back from the lines. After locating their horses, the
Journal
men found some empty space on the mosquito-ridden veranda and slept, or tried to sleep, until sunrise. After packing Hemment’s camera equipment and saddling up, they headed up the muddy road toward the Fifth Army’s forward position a few miles from Santiago.
Charles Johnson Post, a one-time
New York Journal
artist who had enlisted as a private with the 71st New York Infantry (and who, despite his new role, contributed a valuable series of sketches from the field), was surprised to run across his former employer that morning in a clearing. He left perhaps the best image of Hearst in Cuba:
The horse was not big but the man was, and tall: his legs and white socks hung well below the horse’s belly. Dressed in black civilian clothes as if he had just stepped over from New York, he wore a jaunty felt-brimmed straw hat with a scarlet hatband and a scarlet tie to match. It was William Randolph Hearst. . . . We hailed him joyously—he was someone we knew! “Hey, Willie!” The hail went up and down the column, and it was all friendly. Someone from New York! He never moved a muscle. Always poker-faced, he never cracked a smile. If he thought we were jeering he was wrong. We were just glad to see someone from home. James Creelman, the correspondent, came galloping back from ahead and conferred with Hearst. . . . Creelman turned in his saddle and called out to us: “Boys, you’re going into battle. Good luck!” Then he spoke and turned to Hearst. Hearst made a gesture in our direction with his scarlet-banded hat. He almost smiled. “Good luck!” he called mildly. “Boys, good luck be with you,” and then he stiffened again.
90