Theodore Rex - Edmund Morris [242]
He sent two identical cruisers to New York to pick up the delegations. Oyster Bay began to tremble with the activity of small craft—cutters, yachts, gigs, wherries, skiffs—jiggling for vantage points around the Mayflower, anchored white and aloof about a quarter of a mile offshore. Nearby stood the Dolphin, Sylph, and Galveston. For connoisseurs of marine display, it was the spectacle of 17 August 1903 re-enacted, but minus the overmastering presence of battleships: a panoply of peace rather than war. The weather was sunny and humid, the bay soon filling with hazy light as the shadow of Cove Neck withdrew and crept up the slope of Sagamore Hill.
Shortly after noon, a concatenation of cannon fire announced the President’s arrival aboard the Mayflower. He climbed the gangway in his usual statesman’s frock coat and silk hat, with only a white waistcoat conceding the heat. The deck of the yacht glittered like a ballroom with bemedaled uniforms and polished brass fittings. From then on, the cannon salutes were almost continuous, as first the Japanese and then the Russian plenipotentiaries left their own ships and approached Roosevelt’s via a lane of open water. To general surprise, Witte was bowing and grinning as spectators yelled his name. Precisely as each party came up the side of the Mayflower, its flag joined the Stars and Stripes lolling aloft.
The President did not welcome his guests above, but waited below, flanked by admirals and adjutants, in a paneled salon while protocol officers conducted the formalities on deck. Since Komura and Takahira had arrived in the United States before Witte and Rosen (and also gotten out to Sagamore Hill sooner), they were escorted down first, trailed by their suite. Roosevelt greeted them, then left them seated in an anteroom as Witte and Rosen descended into the salon.
Inevitably, Assistant Secretary of State Herbert H. Peirce mispronounced some of the Russian names. Roosevelt, smiling and ejaculating his famous “dee-lighted,” at least recognized that of Fedor Fedorovich Martens, a St. Petersburg law professor whose works he knew and praised. After presenting his own aides, he told Witte that he would like to introduce the members of the opposing delegation.
The door to the other salon opened, and fifteen black-coated Japanese filed in. Witte felt the moral pain of an envoy, invested with the dignity of the world’s largest empire, being confronted by his betters in war. An observer was struck by the absolute expressionlessness of the faces on either side. “Baron Komura,” Roosevelt said, “I have the honor to present you to Mr. Witte and Baron Rosen.”
As the President handled the plenipotentiaries, the other delegates shook hands, then retired to opposite sides of the room in awkward silence. Roosevelt alone seemed at ease, talking warmly and incisively, nudging his guests by degrees toward an open door, through which was visible a buffet table and no chairs. Then, briskly, like a Park Avenue hostess, he said, “Mr. Witte, will you come in to lunch with Baron Komura?”
Asia and Russia crossed the threshold together, escorted by the United States.
THE LUNCH, eaten standing up by everybody except the President and plenipotentiaries, was cold. So was the wine—refreshingly so, on a day so hot. Problems of precedence were negated by the general absence of seats. Those set aside for Roosevelt were grouped so casually in a corner that nobody sitting with him seemed to notice who faced left, and who right. To Komura, he spoke English, and to Witte, his own variety of French, loose in grammar yet fluid and comprehensible.
Other guests conversed less easily. They kept talking, however, until champagne was served (by Chinese waiters substituting for the Mayflower’s normal staff of Japanese). The President rose, raised his glass, and said loudly to everybody in the room, “Gentlemen, I propose a toast to which there