from the peace-loving navy secretary. “I can wire Admiral Fletcher to prevent it and take the customs house.”
There was a long pause. Gus was gripping the phone so hard that his hand hurt. At last the president spoke. “Daniels, send this order to Admiral Fletcher: Take Veracruz at once.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” said the navy secretary.
And America was at war.
Gus did not go to bed that night or the following day.
Shortly after eight thirty, Secretary Daniels brought the news that an American warship had blocked the path of the Ypiranga. The German ship, an unarmed freighter, switched its engines to reverse and left the scene. American marines would go ashore at Veracruz later that morning, Daniels said.
Gus was dismayed by the rapidly developing crisis but thrilled to be at the heart of things.
Woodrow Wilson did not shrink from war. His favorite play was Shakespeare’s Henry V, and he liked to quote the line “If it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.”
News came in by wireless and cable, and it was Gus’s job to take the messages in to the president. At midday the marines took control of the Veracruz customs house.
Shortly afterward, he was told that there was someone to see him-a Mrs. Wigmore.
Gus frowned worriedly. This was indiscreet. Something must be wrong.
He hurried to the lobby. Caroline looked distraught. Although she wore a neat tweed coat and a plain hat, her hair was untidy and her eyes red with crying. Gus was shocked and distressed to see her in this state. “My darling!” he said in a low voice. “What on earth has happened?”
“This is the end,” she said. “I can never see you again. I’m so sorry.” She began to cry.
Gus wanted to hug her, but he could not do so there. He had no office of his own. He looked around. The guard at the door was staring at them. There was nowhere they could be private. It was maddening. “Come outside,” he said, taking her arm. “We’ll walk.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll be all right. Stay here.”
“What has upset you?”
She would not meet his eye, and looked at the floor. “I must be faithful to my husband. I have obligations.”
“Let me be your husband.”
She raised her face, and her yearning look broke his heart. “Oh, how I wish I could.”
“But you can!”
“I have a husband already.”
“He is not faithful to you-why should you be to him?”
She ignored that. “He’s accepted a chair at Berkeley. We’re moving to California.”
“Don’t go.”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“Obviously,” Gus said flatly. He felt as if he had been knocked down. His chest hurt and he found it hard to breathe. “California,” he said. “Hell.”
She saw his acceptance of the inevitable, and she began to recover her composure. “This is our last meeting,” she said.
“No!”
“Please listen to me. There’s something I want to tell you, and this is my only chance.”
“All right.”
“A month ago I was ready to kill myself. Don’t look at me like that, it’s true. I thought I was so worthless that no one would care if I died. Then you appeared on my doorstep. You were so affectionate, so courteous, so thoughtful, that you made me think it was worth staying alive. You cherished me.” The tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she kept on. “And you were so happy when I kissed you. If I could give someone that much joy, I couldn’t be completely useless, I realized; and that thought kept me going. You saved my life, Gus. May God bless you.”
He almost felt angry. “What does that leave me with?”
“Memories,” she said. “I hope you will treasure them as I will treasure mine.”
She turned away. Gus followed her to the door, but she did not look back. She went out, and he let her go.
When she was out of sight he headed automatically for the Oval Office, then changed direction: his mind was in too much of a turmoil for him to be with the president. He went into the men’s room for a moment’s peace. Fortunately there was no one else there. He washed his face, then looked in the mirror. He saw a thin man with a big head: he was shaped like a lollipop. He had light brown hair and brown eyes, and was not very handsome, but women usually liked him, and Caroline loved him.
Or she had, at least, for a little while.
He should not have let her go. How could he have watched her walk away like that? He should have persuaded her to postpone her decision, think about it, talk to him some more. Perhaps they could have thought of alternatives. But in his heart he knew there were no alternatives. She had already been through all that in her mind, he guessed. She must have lain awake nights, with her husband sleeping beside her, going over and over the situation. She had made up her mind before coming here.
He needed to return to his post. America was at war. But how could he put this out of his mind? When he could not see her, he spent all day looking forward to the next time he could. Now he could not stop thinking about life without her. It already seemed a strange prospect. What would he do?
A clerk came into the men’s room, and Gus dried his hands on a towel and returned to his station in the study next to the Oval Office.
A few moments later, a messenger brought him a cable from the American consul in Veracruz. Gus looked at it and said: “Oh, no!” It read: FOUR OF OUR MEN KILLED COMMA TWENTY WOUNDED COMMA FIRING ALL AROUND THE CONSULATE STOP.
Four men killed, Gus thought with horror; four good American men with mothers and fathers, and wives or girlfriends. The news seemed to put his sadness in perspective. At least, he thought, Caroline and I are alive.
He tapped on the door of the Oval Office and handed the cable to Wilson. The president read it and went pale.
Gus looked keenly at him. How did he feel, knowing they were dead because of the decision he had made in the middle of the night?
This was not supposed to happen. The Mexicans wanted freedom from tyrannical governments, didn’t they? They should have welcomed the Americans as liberators. What had gone wrong?
Bryan and Daniels showed up a few minutes later, followed by the secretary of war, Lindley Garrison, a man normally more belligerent than Wilson, and Robert Lansing, the State Department counselor. They gathered in the Oval Office to wait for more news.
The president was wired tighter than a violin string. Pale, restless, and twitchy, he paced the floor. It was a pity, Gus thought, that Wilson did not smoke-it might have calmed him.
We all knew there might be violence, Gus thought, but somehow the reality is more shocking than we anticipated.
More details came in sporadically, and Gus handed the messages to Wilson. The news was all bad. Mexican troops had resisted, firing on the marines from their fort. The troops were supported by citizens, who took potshots at Americans from their upstairs windows. In retaliation the USS Prairie, anchored offshore, turned its three-inch guns on the city and shelled it.
Casualties mounted: six Americans killed, eight, twelve-and more wounded. But it was a hopelessly unequal contest, and over a hundred Mexicans died.
The president seemed baffled. “We don’t want to fight the Mexicans,” he said. “We want to serve them, if we can. We want to serve mankind.”
For the second time in a day, Gus felt knocked off his feet. The president and his advisers had had nothing but good intentions. How had things gone so wrong? Was it really so difficult to do good in international affairs?
A message came from the State Department. The German ambassador, Count Johann von Bernstorff, had been
