"A Message to Garcia" Part 5 of 8
Having become famous after
delivering his message to Garcia, the swift success of the United
States in the Spanish-American War and the overwhelming circulation of
the article written by Elbert Hubbard on February 22, 1899, Lt. Andrew
S. Rowan was promoted to Captain. He was assigned to The Philippines in
1901, as Company Commander of Company I of the 19th Infantry.
After
he retired from the Army, he wrote the following essay in 1923, which
we will present in the next three parts of this series of "A Message to
Garcia." In his essay, Lt. Col. Rowan explains the details of his trip
to Cuba to meet with General Calixto Garcia and his return to the
United States, accompanied by Cuban officers that Gen. Garcia assigned
to come with him on his return, to serve as advisors to President
McKinley.
Here is the first part of Lt. Col. Rowan's essay:
"How I Carried A Message To Garcia" By: Lieutenant Colonel Andrew S. Rowan - 1923
"Where,"
asked President McKinley of Colonel Arthur Wagner, head of the Bureau
of Military Intelligence, "where can I find a man who will carry a
message to Garcia?"
The reply was prompt. "There is a young officer here in Washington; a lieutenant named Rowan, who will carry it for you !"
"Send him!" was the President's order.
The
United States faced a war with Spain. The President was anxious for
information. He realized that success meant that the soldiers of the
republic must cooperate with the insurgent forces of Cuba. He
understood that it was essential to know how many Spanish troops there
were on the island, their quality and condition, their morale, the
character of their officers, especially those of the high command; the
state of the roads in all seasons; the sanitary situation in both the
Spanish and insurgent armies and the country in general; how well both
sides were armed and what the Cuban forces would need in order to
harass the enemy while American battalions were being mobilized; the
topography of the country and many other important facts.
Small
wonder that the command, "Send him!" was equally as prompt as the
answer to his question respecting the individual who would carry the
message to Garcia.
It was perhaps and hour later, at noon,
when Colonel Wagner came to me to ask me to meet him at the Army and
Navy Club for lunch at one o'clock. As we were eating, the colonel –
who had, by the way, a reputation for being an inveterate joker – asked
me: "When does the next boat leave for Jamaica?"
[BB]
Thinking
he was making an effort to perpetrate one of his pleasantries, and
determined to thwart him, if possible, I excused myself for a minute or
so and when I had returned informed him that the "Adirondack," of the
Atlas Line, a British boat, would sail from Mew York the next day at
noon.
"Can you take that boat?" snapped the colonel.
Notwithstanding that I still believed the colonel was joking I replied in the affirmative.
"Then," said my superior, "get ready to take it!"
"Young
man," he continued, "you have been selected by the President to
communicate with – or rather, to carry a message to – General Garcia,
who will be found somewhere in the eastern part of Cuba. Your problem
will be to secure from him information of a military character, bring
it down to date and arrange it on a working basis. Your message to him
will be in the nature of a series of inquiries from the President.
Written communication, further than is necessary to identify you, will
be avoided. History has furnished us with the record of too many
tragedies to warrant taking risks. Nathan Hale of the Continental Army,
and Lieutenant Richey in the War with Mexico were both caught with
dispatches; both were put to death and in the case of the latter the
plans for Scott's invasion of Vera Cruz was divulged to the enemy.
There must be no failure on your part; there must be no errors made in
this case."
By this time I was fully alive to the fact that Colonel Wagner was not joking.
"Means
will be found," he continued, "to identify you in Jamaica, where there
is a Cuban junta. The rest depends on you. You require no further
instructions than those I will now give you." which he did, they being
essentially as outlined in the opening paragraphs. "You will need the
afternoon for preparation. Quarter-master-General Humphreys will see
that you are put ashore at Kingston. After that, providing the United
States declares war on Spain, further instructions will be based on
cables received from you. Otherwise everything will be silence. You
must plan and act for yourself. The task is yours and yours only. You
must get a message to Garcia. Your train leaves at midnight. Good-bye
and good luck!"
We shook hands.
As Colonel Wagner released mine he repeated: "Get that message to Garcia!"
Hastily,
as I set about to make my preparations, I considered my situation. My
duty was, as I understood it, complicated by the fact that a state of
war did not exist, nor would it exist at the time of my departure;
possibly not until after my arrival in Jamaica. A false step might
bring about a condition that a lifetime of statement would never
explain. Should war be declared my mission would be simplified,
although its dangers would not be lessened.
In instances of
this kind, where one's reputation, as well as his life, is at stake, it
is usual to ask for written instructions. In military service the life
of the man is at the disposal of his country, but his reputation is his
own and it ought not be placed in the hands of anyone with power to
destroy it, either by neglect or otherwise. But in this case it never
occurred to me to ask for written instructions; my sole thought was
that I was charged with a message to Garcia and to get from him certain
information and that I was going to do it.
Whether Colonel
Wagner ever placed on file in the office of the adjutant-general the
substance of our conversation I do not know. At this late day it
matters little.
My train left Washington at 12:01 a.m., and I
have a recollection of thinking of an old superstition about starting
on a journey on Friday. It was Saturday when the train departed, but it
was Friday when I left the club. I assumed the Fates would decide that
I had left on Friday. But I soon forgot that in my mental discussion of
other matters and did not recall it until some time afterward and then
it mattered nothing, for my mission had been completed.
The
"Adirondack" left on time and the voyage was without special incident.
I held myself aloof from the other passengers and learned only from a
traveling companion, an electrical engineer, what was going on. He
conveyed to me the cheerful information that because of my keeping away
from them and giving no one any information as to my business, a bunch
of convivial spirits had conferred on me the title of "the bunco
steerer."
It was when the ship entered Cuban waters that I
first realized danger. I had but one incriminating paper, a letter from
the State Department to officials in Jamaica saying that I was what I
might represent myself to be. But if war had been declared before the
Adirondack entered Cuban waters she would have been liable to search by
Spain, under the rules of international law. As I was contraband and
the bearer of contraband I could have been seized as a prisoner of war
and taken aboard any Spanish ship, while the British boat, after
compliance with specified preliminaries, could have been sunk, despite
the fact that she left a peaceful port under a neutral flag, bound for
a neutral port, prior to a declaration of war.
[BB]
Recalling
this state of affairs, I hid this paper in the life preserver in my
stateroom and it was with great relief I saw the cape astern.
By
nine the next morning I had landed and was a guest of Jamaica. I was
soon in touch with Mr. Lay, head of the Cuban junta, and with him and
his aids planning to get to Garcia as soon as possible.
I had
left Washington April 8-9. April 20 the cables announced that the
United States had given Spain until the 23 to agree to surrender Cuba
to the Cubans and to withdraw her armed forces from the island and her
navy from its waters. I had in cypher cabled my arrival and on April 23
a reply in code came: "Join Garcia as soon as possible!"
In a
few minutes after its receipt I was at headquarters of the junta, where
I was expected. There were a number of exiled Cubans present whom I had
not met before and we were conversing on general topics when a carriage
drove up.
"It is time!" some one exclaimed in Spanish.
Following which, without further discussion, I was led to the vehicle and took a seat inside.
Then
began one of the strangest rides ever taken by a soldier on duty or
off. My driver proved to be the most taciturn of Jehus. He spoke not to
me, nor heeded me when I spoke to him. The instant I was shut in he
started through the maze of Kingston's streets at a furious pace. On
and on he drove, never slackening speed, and soon we had passed the
suburbs and were beyond all habitations. I knocked, yes, kicked, but he
gave no heed.
He seemed to understand that I was carrying a
message to Garcia and that it was his part to get me over the first
"leg" of the journey as speedily as possible. So, after several futile
efforts to make him listen to me, I decided to let matters take their
course and settled back in my seat.
Four miles farther,
through a dense growth of tropical trees, we flew along the broad and
level Spanish Town road, until at the edge of the jungle we halted, the
door of the cab was opened, a strange face appeared, and I was invited
to transfer to another carriage that was waiting.
But the
strangeness of it all! The order in which everything appeared to be
arranged! Not an unnecessary word was indulged in, not a second of time
was wasted.
A minute later and again I was on my way.
The
second driver, like the first, was dumb. He declined all efforts made
to get him in conversation, contenting himself by putting his horses to
as swift a pace as possible, so on we went through Spanish Town and up
the valley of the Cobre river to the backbone of the island where the
road runs down to the ultramarine waters of the Caribbean at St. Ann's
Bay.
Still not a word from my driver, although I repeatedly
endeavored to get him to talk to me. Not a sound, not a sign that he
understood me: just a race along a splendid road, breathing more freely
as the altitude increased, until as the sun set we drew up beside a
railway station.
But what is this mass of ebony rolling down
the slope of the cut toward me? Had the Spanish authorities anticipated
me and placed Jamaica officers on my trail? I was uneasy for a moment
as this apparition came in sight, but relief came when an old Negro
hobbled to the carriage and shoved through the door a deliciously fried
chicken and two bottles of Bass' ale, at the same time letting loose a
volley of dialect, which, as I was able to catch a word here and there,
I understood was highly complimentary to me for helping Cuba gain her
freedom and giving me to understand that he was "doing his bit" with
me.
[BB]
But my driver stood not on ceremony, nor was he
interested in either chicken or conversation. In a trice a new pair of
horses was relayed on and away we went my Jehu plying his whip
vigorously. I had only time enough to thank the old Negro by shouting:
"Good-by, Uncle!"
In another minute we had left him and were racing through the darkness at breakneck speed.
Although
I fully comprehended the gravity and importance of the errand in which
I was engaged, I lost sight of it for the time in my admiration of the
tropical forests. These wear their beauty at night as well as by day.
The difference is that while during the sunlight it is the vegetable
world that is in perennial bloom, at night it is the insect world in
its flight that excites attention. Hardly had the short twilight
changed to utter darkness when the glowworms turned on their
phosphorescent lights and flooded the woods with their weird beauties.
These magnificent fireflies illuminated with their incandescence the
forest I was traversing until it resembled a veritable fairyland.
But
even such wonders as these are forgotten in the recollection of duty to
be performed. We still coursed onward at a speed that was limited only
by the physical abilities of the horses, when suddenly a shrill whistle
sounded from the jungle!
My carriage stopped. Men appeared as
if they had sprung from the ground. I was surrounded by a party of men
armed to the teeth. I had no fear of being intercepted on British soil
by Spanish soldiers, but these abrupt halts were getting on my nerves,
because action by the Jamaica authorities would mean the failure of the
mission, and if the Jamaica authorities had been notified that I was
violating the neutrality of the island I would not be allowed to
proceed. What if these men were English soldiers!
But my feelings were soon relieved. A whispered parley and we were away again!
In
about an hour we halted in front of a house outlined by feeble lights
within. Supper waited. The junta manifestly believed in liberal
feeding.
The first thing offered me was a glass of Jamaica
rum. I do not recall that I was tired, although we had traveled about
seventy miles in approximately nine hours with two relays, but I do
know that the rum was welcome.
Following came introductions.
From an adjoining room came a tall, wiry, determined-looking man, with
a fierce moustache, one of his hands minus a thumb; a man to tie to in
an emergency, to trust at any time. His eyes were honest, loyal eyes
that mirrored a noble soul. He was a Peninsula Spaniard who had gone to
Cuba, at Santiago had quarreled with the rule of Old Spain, hence the
missing thumb and exile. He was Gervacio Sabio and he was charged with
seeing that I was guided to General Garcia for the delivery of my
message. The others were the men employed to get me out of Jamaica –
seven miles remaining to be traveled – with one exception, one man was
to be my "assistente," or orderly.
Following a rest of an hour
we proceeded. Half an hour's travel from the hut we were again halted
by whistle signals. We alighted and entered a cane field through which
we tramped in silence for about a mile until we came to a coconut grove
bordering a plaything of a bay.
Fifty yards off shore a small
fishing boat rocked softly on the water. Suddenly a light flashed
aboard the little craft. It must have been a time signal, for our
arrival had been noiseless. Gervacio, apparently satisfied with the
alertness of the crew, answered it.
Following some
conversation during which I thanked the agents of the junta, I climbed
on the back of one of the boat's crew who had waded ashore and was
carried to the boat.
I had completed the first part of the journey to Garcia.
Next issue: How I carried A Message to Garcia, Continued... Part 6 of 8
Humberto Rodriguez, CLU is a writer, author, programmer, marketer, insurance and financial consultant. Webmaster of several sites, he teaches you how to develop, publish and market your own website. Subscribe to his free newsletter: http://HRFinancial.com/
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