Yours most sincerely,
Evans.
It was a good day's work, and even if it did cause the fleet to lose a day in the run to Callao in addition to the one lost in Punta Arenas in answering the courtesies of the Chileans, no one begrudged the delay.
The appearance of the city of Valparaiso was a distinct disappointment to those on the fleet who had not seen it before. Its name means a Vale of Paradise. Was it intended as mockery? One travel writer has said that nature never meant that a city should be planted there. The hills come down so near to the water that there is room for only four or five streets parallel with it. The city is strung along the harbor for more than two miles. To find other room for itself it has to climb steep hills and build homes on terraces. The streams have made great gullies, or barrancas, in their courses to the sea, and these gulches give a disjointed appearance to the place. There seems to be no continuity about it. It is irregular, tilted here and there and most of the hills have to be overcome with steep railroads, like those which climb the hills of Pittsburg or Cincinnati. A line of railroad with English carriages runs along the waterfront. The railroad finds an opening, not visible from the harbor, where it may escape the girdle of the hills. There seem to be few houses around the waterfront.
There was little or no color in the buildings. All seemed to be made of grayish mud. There was no visible verdure in the town. The hills were brown, as if blighted by a great drought. All was bleak and bare and dusty. The place looked barren and almost cheerless. A greater contrast to hill and mountain adorned Rio de Janeiro, the last large city we saw, heavy with its mantle of green, could not be imagined than this sun-baked, brown collection of dull-colored buildings constituting a great seaport. The effects of the earthquake of last year could be seen here and there with a glass. Walls were broken and buildings toppled over. This added all the more to the forlorn appearance of the place, but it gave point to the exuberant welcome which its people gave to the fleet.
The day before the fleet sailed into Valparaiso harbor it had a little celebration, somewhat unusual on the high seas, that was strictly American. The cruiser Chicago, bound for the Atlantic from San Francisco, met us. Wireless signals had been exchanged and about 3 o'clock in the afternoon the smoke of the Chicago could be made out on the horizon. An hour later she was approaching the flagship. Then she saluted the Admiral's flag. Every ship had been told to show passing honors. The guard was paraded, the rails manned and the band was on the quarterdeck. The fleet and the Chicago almost drifted by one another. As the Chicago passed down the line the band on every battleship played "The Star Spangled Banner." When the bars were finished on the Louisiana the band struck up "Home, Sweet Home." The long homeward bound pennant of the Chicago seemed to have an extra flutter in it as the notes sounded over the smooth sea. In many a man's throat there was a gulp. After the fleet had passed the Chicago hove to and lay for a quarter of an hour, all its men gazing as a fond relative after another for which fate had decreed a long separation.
It was a pretty ceremony, and it furnished food for naval thought. There was the first steel ship of the United States navy, the flagship of the White Squadron of more than twenty years ago of which Americans were so proud. She seemed a puny thing beside any one of this fleet. The earliest and the latest in modern American warship building were presented to the eye. And what an advance! Still the Chicago presented a smart appearance and her 8-inch guns, with which she holds the navy record, told that she was still useful and she could hold up her head proudly. Every one was glad she was still in existence. Right then and there many a young American naval officer got a better idea of the growth and strength of the navy than most of his books and his study could reveal to him.
Whatever may have been the motive that impelled President Roosevelt to send this fleet on its long journey to the Pacific—whether it was to dare Japan to resent it or to serve notice on that nation to be good; whether it was for political effect on the Pacific Coast in the hope of rounding up delegates for some one candidate for President or electing some man United States Senator; whether it was in accord with some suggestion perhaps that Secretary Root made in his trip to South America; whether it was simply a desire to be spectacular; whether it was a sincere belief that the navy needed just such a cruise to fit it for its best work and the Pacific was as much entitled to see how it could be protected as the Atlantic; whether it was for any or all of these, and all have been suggested in print—whatever it was, let this be said as to the unexpected and to some extent unforeseen advantages that have resulted:
The Monroe Doctrine is to-day more of a living, vital thing with the nations of South America because of the cruise of this fleet than it has ever been since President Monroe penned its words.