Theodore Rex (66 page)

He was careful not to predict any “
misconduct” that might be to America’s advantage on the Isthmus. William Nelson Cromwell bustled in to see him on 7 October, and bustled out none the wiser—“a typical revolutionist,” in Roosevelt’s opinion, “mysterious, and in it for the fun of the game.” Three days later, however, the President received someone much harder to deflect.

Philippe Bunau-Varilla was escorted by Assistant Secretary of State Loomis. Tiny as the Frenchman was—he barely reached his companion’s sternum—Roosevelt saw at once that he was
a shrewd and aggressive personality. The globular head bulged with intelligence, and the eyes—“duellist’s eyes”—were as chill as glass. Most people were overawed when they entered the Executive Office for the first time, but Bunau-Varilla was calm. Roosevelt felt himself being sized up.

He knew that there was “an underlying motive” for the visit, which would not be stated directly. Loomis introduced Bunau-Varilla as the new co-owner of
Le Matin
in Paris. For a while they all made polite conversation about French journalism, avoiding any reference to Panama. Then Loomis mentioned the Dreyfus affair. Bunau-Varilla took the cue:

Loomis remained rigidly mute. The President, for all his air of fake surprise, was referring to John Bassett Moore’s proposal to “require” Colombia to sign the canal treaty. Roosevelt asked what made Bunau-Varilla think that a revolution was coming.

“
General and special considerations, Mr. President.” Bunau-Varilla spoke with careful vagueness, not wanting to embarrass Roosevelt with details. But he could not resist asking if the United States would be supportive of an armed uprising in Panama.

Roosevelt ignored the question.

“I don’t suppose you can say.”

“I cannot.”

“Will you protect Colombian interests?”

“I cannot say that.”

All that the President
would
say was that Colombia, in rejecting a treaty she herself had proposed, had forfeited any further consideration by the United States. “I have no use for a government that would do what that government has done.”

Both men were anxious for the interview to end. They perfectly understood each other. Roosevelt saw that if anyone was capable of bringing about the revolution, it was this
tremendous little foreigner.
Bunau-Varilla, in turn, was convinced that the United States would find a way to support him.

THE PRESIDENT’S FAUX PAS
about a “plan” may not have been involuntary. When receiving officers and gentlemen—Bunau-Varilla was, like himself, a colonel—he was sure that his confidence would not be abused. (It might, however, be discreetly
used.)
With advisers, Roosevelt was even franker, telling Professor Moore that he would recognize Panama if it revolted and set up an independent government “
under proper circumstances.”

In the same spirit, he now informed Albert Shaw that he would be “delighted” to hear of an uprising on the Isthmus. “But for me to say so publicly would amount to an instigation of a revolt, and therefore I cannot say it.” With his current unpopularity among unionists, white Southerners, and Wall Street bankers, he dared not risk any word or deed that might revive old images of him as a rash, rough-riding imperialist.

John D. Long could not have chosen a worse time to publish an article in
Outlook
jocularly recalling the days when the President, as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, had wanted “to send a squadron across the ocean to
sink … the Spanish fleet while we were still at peace with Spain.” Roosevelt angrily denied the allegation, but critics of his Administration thought that Colombia should take it as a forewarning. “He is the most risky man the United States has had in the Presidency,” declared the
Philadelphia Record
.

Another article, by Henry Watterson in the Louisville
Courier-Journal
, alleged that half of the forty million dollars that American taxpayers were paying to the Compagnie Nouvelle for canal rights would be kicked back to various American senators, lobbyists, engineers, and columnists—the “thieves” behind the original switch to Panama. While nobody believed that Roosevelt had any “share of the stealage,” he was being importuned by too many unscrupulous parties. There was only one honest alternative: to opt for Nicaragua, and quickly. “Time’s up, Mr. President!” Watterson taunted. “Will you act … or will you continue to play politics?”

Philippe Bunau-Varilla
demolished Watterson’s claims in a letter to the New York
Sun
. He noted that “not one cent” of the canal-rights money could be disbursed illegally, since the Compagnie Nouvelle was in receivership, and thus managed by the courts of France. As for the Nicaragua route, “it has all the advantages over Panama except the technical ones.”

Watterson was reduced to weak taunts aimed at “Mr. Vanilla Bean.” The nickname stuck, to Bunau-Varilla’s fury, but the charges of corruption did not.

MANUEL AMADOR GUERRERO
, an elderly physician accredited by the Panamanian revolutionary
junta
, met with Bunau-Varilla in New York. An American intermediary, known only as “W,” had led him to believe that the Roosevelt Administration would contribute at least six million dollars of unspecified secret funds to his cause. The money was needed to buy gunboats that would prevent Colombia from landing reinforcements on the Isthmus when revolution broke out. Bunau-Varilla told him to forget about any such subsidy.

A more realistic hope, based on Roosevelt’s hints in the Executive Office, was that the United States Navy would provide such protection, under Roosevelt’s treaty obligations to keep traffic across Panama clear.
Amador said that in that case the
junta
had no worries about the five hundred Colombian troops garrisoned in Panama City. They had been so long neglected and underpaid by Bogotá that they could certainly be bribed to join the revolution.

Bunau-Varilla grandly promised to raise one hundred thousand dollars for this purpose. If he could not borrow it from a New York bank, “
I can provide it, myself, from my own personal fortune.”

Downtown, as the conspirators shook hands, William Nelson Cromwell prepared to decamp for Paris. “The fun of the game” was rapidly becoming too fraught for him. He was terrified that President Marroquín would find
out that he, too, had been plotting with Panamanians, and cancel the Compagnie Nouvelle’s remaining rights.

And there was still the dread prospect that Roosevelt might yet decide to dig in Nicaragua. Obsequiously, Cromwell sent him a final appeal before sailing:

BUNAU-VARILLA
, having invested so heavily in Panama’s future, returned to Washington on 15 October to see if John Hay would tell him anything more than Roosevelt had. The Secretary of State received him at home, and put on a dazzling display of diplomatic obtuseness. He waited for Bunau-Varilla to raise the subject of Panamanian unrest, then agreed that a revolution was likely. “But,” he added in his silky voice, “we shall not be caught napping.”

He mentioned that a squadron of Navy ships was coaling up in San Francisco, and would next “sail towards the Isthmus.” There was some talk about the propensity of Latin American nations for political violence. Then Hay changed, or seemed to change, the subject. “I have just finished reading a charming novel,
Captain Macklin
.”

He picked up Richard Harding Davis’s latest adventure story and said that it was about an American soldier of fortune who visits Central America and enlists in a revolutionary army, under the command of an idealistic Frenchman. “Take it with you,” Hay urged. “It will interest you.”

That evening, on the train back to New York, a wildly excited Bunau-Varilla pored over
Captain Macklin
. Every page furthered his idealistic identity with the French general, fighting in the jungle for “justice and progress.” But the book also made him worry about
mañana
. When he next saw Dr. Amador, he behaved with Napoleonic briskness, handing over a plan of military action, a declaration of independence, a draft republican constitution, and “a code with which to correspond with me.” The United States, he guaranteed, would move to protect Panama within forty-eight hours of the revolution.

Amador accepted both the documents and the promise. But he was much less willing to accede to Bunau-Varilla’s airy follow-up, “Nobody knows better than I the final aim, which is the completion of the canal and the best way to attain it. It will, therefore, be necessary to entrust me with the diplomatic representation of the new Republic at Washington.”

All Amador could say was that he would discuss the matter with his colleagues. Bunau-Varilla, elated, began to design a national flag.

THAT NIGHT
, two young Army officers, Captain Chauncey B. Humphrey and Lieutenant Grayson Murphy, visited the White House to report secretly
on a tour they had just made of Panama. Roosevelt listened with interest, having sent them south himself, to survey strategic approaches to the canal zone.

They confirmed Bunau-Varilla’s predictions of a revolution, saying it would probably occur late that month, or in early November. While crossing by train from Colón to Panama City, disguised as English tourists, they had found themselves in the same car as José de Obaldía. The Governor and his aides, assuming that the foreigners spoke no Spanish, had openly—but unenthusiastically—talked about a break from Bogotá. Captain Humphrey got a feeling of general gloom, based on the failure of Panamanian revolutions in the past.