Colonel Roosevelt - Edmund Morris [278]
Wilson chose to follow the tradition that a sitting president should not stump for himself. He remained at Shadow Lawn while Democratic orators itemized his record of progressivism, preparedness, and peace. Hughes was uncertain how to attack him on these issues without seeming reactionary in one direction and warlike in the other. Party wags suggested that the former justice had moved “from the bench to the fence.”
For the sake of solidarity, Roosevelt agreed to do the RNC a favor on 3 October, and shake hands with William Howard Taft at a reception for Hughes in the Union League Club. “It was one of those friendly affairs,” he said afterward, “where each side, before entering the meeting place, made sure its hardware was in good working order.” The clasp between the two former presidents was brief and virtually wordless. For the rest of the evening, GOP stalwarts kept them apart, as if afraid that Roosevelt might use his right fist for some other purpose. Hughes complained in mock chagrin, “I was only the side show.”
Four days later, the Woodrow Wilson College Men’s League, consisting of 2,500 bright young progressives and independents, paid court to the President at Shadow Lawn. Wilson saw an opportunity to mock the Republican Party for fielding a surrogate candidate. Without naming Roosevelt directly, he won cheers when he observed that there was only one oracle in the GOP—“a very articulate voice [that] professes opinions and purposes at which the rest in private shiver and demur.” It was a voice for war not peace, “shot through with every form of bitterness, every ugly form of hate, every debased purpose of revenge … discontented and insurgent.”
AS HE SPOKE, residents of Newport boggled at the insurgence offshore of a sea-green, 213-foot German submarine. It cruised into the inner harbor, where thirty-seven warships of the U.S. North Atlantic squadron lay at anchor, and docked as coolly as if it had been a yacht putting in for tea at the Casino. The captain emerged, a neat bearded figure with an Iron Cross on his breast, and said something to the crowd clustering the waterfront. Miss Margaret Fahnestock, a fellow debutante of Flora’s, translated for him. He identified himself as Lieutenant Hans Rose, and produced a letter for the German ambassador in Washington, Count Bernstorff. An Associated Press reporter, hardly able to believe the dimensions of his scoop, undertook to mail it. Somebody asked if the submarine was in need of supplies.
“We require nothing, thank you,” Rose said. He added, smiling, that he and his crew of thirty-three had been at sea for seventeen days. They had more than enough food and fuel to get home to Wilhelmshaven. “Maybe soon, maybe never!” Anyone who wanted was welcome to tour his vessel, the U-53.
Men, women, and children took turns clambering down its stairwell and found the interior spotless and comfortable. Six torpedoes were clearly visible. “A constant comment of those permitted on board,” the AP man noted, “was on the thorough preparedness which the vessel seemed to exhibit despite her many days at sea.” One of Newport’s hyphenated citizens presented an officer with an Irish Republican flag. This elicited some more Prussian humor.
“RESIDENTS OF NEWPORT BOGGLED AT … A SEA-GREEN, 213-FOOT GERMAN SUBMARINE.”
The U-53 pays a visit to America, 7 October 1916. (photo credit i24.2)
“The first British ship we sink,” the officer promised, “we will hoist this flag in honor of Ireland.”
People ashore observed that the new banner was already flying when, at 5:17 P.M., the U-53 set off again. A flotilla of pleasure craft followed it out of the harbor, but as it approached Fort Adams it settled low as an alligator and began to accelerate. The small boats hove to, rocking in