Otherwise he was constantly advising and encouraging him. Why? Let the Admiral answer: “I knew that what he was doing—driving the Spaniards in—was saving our troops.”[7] In other words they were daily dying that American soldiers might live, on the faith of the reasons for which we had declared war, and trusting, because of the words of our consuls and the acts of our admiral, in the sentiment subsequently so nobly expressed by Mr. McKinley in his instructions to the Paris peace Commissioners:
The United States in making peace should follow the same high rule of conduct which guided it in facing war.[8]
“I did not know what the action of our Government would be,” said the Admiral to the Committee,[9] adding that he simply used his best judgment on the spot at the time; presumably supposing that his Government would do the decent thing by these people who considered us their liberators. “They looked on us as their liberators,” said he.[10] “Up to the time the army came he (Aguinaldo) did everything I requested. He was most obedient; whatever I told him to do he did. I saw him almost daily.[11] I had not much to do with him after the army came.”[12]
That was no ordinary occasion, that midsummer session of the Senate Committee in 1902. It was a case of the powerful of the earth discussing a question of ethics, even as they do in Boston. The nation had been intoxicated in 1898 with the pride of power—power revealed to it by the Spanish War; and in a spirit thus mellowed had taken the Philippines as a sort of political foreign mission, forgetting the injunction of the Fathers to keep Church and State separate, but not forgetting the possible profits of trade with the saved. A long war with the prospective saved had followed, developing many barbarities avenged in kind, and the breezes from the South Seas were suggesting the aroma of shambles. “How did we get into all this mess, anyhow?” said the people. “Let us pause, and consider.” Hear the still small voice of a nation’s conscience mingling with demagogic nonsense perpetrated by potent, grave, and reverend Senators:
Admiral Dewey: “I do not think it makes any difference what my opinion is on these things.”
Senator Patterson: “There is no man whose opinion goes farther with the country than yours does, Admiral, and therefore I think you ought to be very prudent in expressing your views.”
Senator Beveridge (Acting Chairman): “The Chairman will not permit any member to lecture Admiral Dewey on his prudence or imprudence.”
This of course would read well to “Mary of the Vine-clad Cottage” out in Indiana, whose four-year-old boy was named George Dewey—, or to her counterpart up in Vermont who might name her next boy after the brilliant and distinguished Acting Chairman, in token of her choice for the Presidency.
Senator Patterson: “I was not lecturing him.”
Senator Beveridge: “Yes; you said he ought to be prudent.”